While about today, I figured that I’d listen to a song I enjoy. I turned out of the hardware store’s parking lot, after noting a product called traction grit in bags, a beautiful name to remember for the story writer–He sanded the sidewalk with traction grit/the rear seat rubbed (felt, cut) like traction grit against his back/traction grit had been sprinkled (tossed) over the grounds where students had been slipping their way to exams and study halls.
Anyway, I started listening to the tune and then noticed that I’d been distracted (perhaps by the name “traction grit”) and had missed most of it. I clicked back to the start, reminding myself to remember to listen. Moments later, I returned to myself and remembered that I had been disregarding the tune once again. I also noticed that I was nearing my destination–a lighting store–and hadn’t really remembered riding the road. I hadn’t noticed my passage. Nor had I been listening to the song.
There’s a metaphor here somewhere, beyond the simple idea of the meaning of time.
(By the way, before someone critiques my driving habits or considers me a danger to others, you do this too).