25 Minutes


We had 25 minutes.

Only 25 minutes to get to Reseda.

Chet was driving. Driving like a fiend,

his foot pushed through the floorboards of the old F150,

navigating towards the carpool lane

for the trip up the 405.

I checked my seat-belt – low and tight.

Then closed my eyes and held on for dear life.

Ever confident that Chet knew the way.

When we slowed,

I looked around.

The pavement had ended where the fire road began.

“This doesn’t look right, Chet. Where are we?”

“I’m not sure where we are.” He grinned.

“But we’re making great time!”

25 minutes, all in. I wrote this at work, as I really shouldn’t do. I was called into a meeting before I was done but I stopped my timer and restarted it when I got back. I stopped when the timer hit 25 minutes and copied it to WP. If I’m choosing a number this week it has to be 25.

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