Whirling Wipers

Walking through the fog I breathe in its viscosity. The cars drive one way- a wiper swipes- then the other whooshing by. They don't exist. I can walk between the most and air as it overburdens my lungs, thick. The air blows around my ankles and is soothing.

Whirling through the cars like the fog. Like the ghost that I am. I don't exist. Time changes. Every bit of what I am and was and could be are now one. I take another step. One. Two. The lights change. The fog lays low, cuddling around the hard bright surfaces of metal. I step again. Red.... Green. Step. Whoosh! Honk! I am free! Time and I are one. I step again.... Breathe in that thick air. Stop.