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- REARRANGING MY INSIDES NIFTY GAY INTERRACIAL DRIVERS
- REARRANGING MY INSIDES NIFTY GAY INTERRACIAL CODE
Be cautious, but never so more than you’re being brazen.
I’ve reached a point where no matter how hard I try and see things as I used to, either I changed, or the rules did.Īnd so those rare unfortunates may find the signs begin to undermine each other. At first, one particularly thoughtful individual might find, there seemed to be one over-arching Way.
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It seems impossible to follow one highway code without breaking another. They blur, they all look the same, sound the same. But to make matters worse, they begin to see that so many of the reflective, glaring, fluorescent signs they are bombarded with as they hit the highway begin to contradict each other. One cannot escape his past, cannot escape the stupid things they did. The problem faced by the salty, by the ones who well and truly drove around that block more than they care to admit, is the inability to disengage from what they think they know best, and in doing so they find themselves sat exactly where they were before they even released the handbrake.
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For the experienced, and by that I mean the scarred, the disfigured, those drivers who possibly still hurt every waking day of their lives, there are an entirely different set of problems, regardless of their ability to learn from past experiences. They can even take precautions to make sure that one accident is never repeated, by not repeating whatever lead to disaster the first time around. For the introspective the problem is rarely not seeing the problem at hand. The problem for the unwise lies in working out what lesson the accused is to take away from his crime. Sometimes it’s simply the only thing that one can take away from the curveballs so often thrown one’s way. It’s common knowledge that to learn from experience makes even the worst decisions worthwhile. Experience is the greatest teacher, not to mention the harshest. For the longest time I did my best to obey all the rules of the road, back before I knew better, or perhaps until I thought I knew better.
I always did my best to be a responsible driver. It felt like I couldn’t go more than ten seconds without some sign, a precaution, a rule, a rule of thumb, a word of advice whispered in confidence. To be fair, the warning signs were all over the place. From a certain perspective the relationship between the machine and it’s controller breaks down, and it can become objectively difficult to distinguish which is driven by which. I lost sight of much of that, and from time to time I wasn’t sure if I was even in control. There’s a sincere innocence in the act of driving. It’s apparent to me now that from the moment I turned that old key and fired her up I was totally unsure of to exactly where I thought I was going. It’s like as soon as I sat down and closed the door, it was getting hazy. Even when I first started off on the journey, I never had a destination in mind.
One of the lessons you learn after years of driving is that at some point or another, you’re going to experience the pain of repetition and predictability.