Darkness enveloped my surroundings as I sat motionless, staring out of the window, my forehead pressed against the rear pillar of the car. My eyes did not wander, nor were they transfixed upon one thing, but instead, as we sped down the San Mateo bridge, my eyes only could look out one direction and wander around watching the horizon burn with a dark tinge as the lights of the city created the glow behind the mountains. I breathed a heavy sigh realizing my own heavy life.
Wires came into view. I passed them watching them grow with life and then sink back into depression, grow again, and die. The darkness made the wires seem almost suspended in midair, the only parts visible are the reflection of the silver in the faint, unearthly glow of the bay and the headlamps rushing by. A think like this, you hardly ever seem to notice if you've ever made this crossing as many times as I have at this time of night I so know and am so acquainted with. The moon is about. It hides from the world tonight making everything seem more eerie.
Just then, a 170 foot pylon swishes by marking the end of the steeplechase and now began the footrace. The steady rumbling and shluck of the tires underfoot begin their monotonous song as I began to drift somewhere else. My eyes now turned forward to watch the carbon arc lamps rush by and yet still race to the horizon and into the darkness. The thumping continues. The wires alongside the bridge still grow and die, the lights briefly giving life to the interior of the car every few seconds, illuminating every hair in the back of the driver's head, or the meshy fabric of the coat of the person next to me. The thumping stops.
We are on land.