NaNoWriMo

In the middle of the night I rolled south of the San Francisco Bay into San Mateo. Cruising into town on Highway 101, I turned Southwest on J. Arthur Younger Freeway, also known as Highway 92. Somehow the combination of J. Arthur, 92, and the idea of a Free Way struck me as important. It somehow seemed like with all this chaos surrounding me that those three pieces had meaning outside of this context. This wasn’t just the journey of the prophet to the holy grounds of surfing in his dream car. The Universe was chaotic, fractal in nature, and these were odd fragments that provided some sort of magnification on this moment. In a quantum universe it was natural that I would travel on J. Arthur Younger Freeway onto Canada Road, then Half Moon Bay Road, then San Mateo Road, all while never leaving Highway 92. Either that or I had been driving for far too long and needed sleep. Actually, the two are not mutually exclusive.

I pulled up to the beach, parked the Camaro, pushed the seat back, and fell asleep. Nothing to see here yet. The sun would rise on the holy land.