I was sitting in traffic again, feeling the humid Louisiana air grow oppressive under the hotbed of toxic fumes. I realized something. I know why it's called a rat race because that's all we've ever been. Vermin carrying the disease of hatred, stupidity, and selfishness as we scurried around in our little cubicle mazes, coked up on the scent of cheese always out of reach.
Life really is a highway, just a series of random, meaningless roads that part just as quickly as they intersect. And yet we sit here, complaining about the road not taken but never asking about the system which paved those roads, to begin with. And through that selfishness and innate unawareness, we get trapped into the endless cycle of apathetic doldrums.
Forced to scream into a void so big it might as well be bottomless, till we take those frustrations out on ourselves. Like the endless, ever-spanning serpent eating its own tail, the ourbourous we feed into each other. Self-devouring till there's nothing left. Except for traffic.