It’s the same street I drove down Thursday; but when I drive down it on Friday, it has unaccountably shifted into an alternate reality. Thursday I was driving a car I’d driven for 27 years, and everything was normal. Friday, I drive down it in my new car for the first time, floating ghostlike along an oddly much smoother, quieter road at what feels much too slow for 40 mph. I am skirted in silver now, instead of sandy brown. My left leg is close to panicking because it has nothing to do, and my right hand is fidgety and ill at ease because it knows it should be reaching over and moving that stick thing about; it’s only moved it once at the start of the drive and that simply can’t be often enough. The sound quality of the radio station I always listen to while driving has improved an inordinate amount all of a sudden. It took an hour and a half for me to change the car. I think it will take a good deal longer for the car to change me.
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