Storm Ride

Sitting in the back of a moldy shit fuck taxi I’m listening to the eighties style guitar riff of Cobra Man’s “Bad Feeling” as I relate to the lyrics.

“It’s a bad feeling— a bad feeling,” as I look through the storm wall. Rain slaps down like errant buckets lost from window washers.

The dragon roar of thunder and sizzle of lightning underlines the majestic fuckery of this mornings soujourn to the south.

Visibility levels are sitting at a glasses-less Millhouse.

The track has jumped to “My Life” by Rubblebucket as I look at the drowned rice paddies and road that threatens to shape shift into a river.

“And if you call yourself a rockstar, then la de da da da da!”

Hard charging into the heart of a storm— and chance sees me look to the roadside to spot a misplaced window lying in the reeds.

“Slow Dance II” by Naked Giants has taken over the headphones as the taxi driver weaves between puddles of standing water with marginal success. Less fault with him, more of inevitability of the road and its greedy accumulation of rain.

The slow, heavy guitar chords match a wolf howl blast of vocals as the lead singer implores his baby to stick around— if not for him, then for the mind melting solo that sounds like an Eagle lighting off mortars on the Fourth of July.

The crushing realization of being done wrong— marries with some California beach notes as the song gives way to “Cosmic Cowboy” by Susto.

The rain has slackened— but it’s still strong enough for the driver to keep a tight grip on the steering wheel.

An explosion like god stomping started my day at three a.m.  The witching hour ceding to the storm— no need of eerie shadows and pregnant silence when the sky sounds like it’s being torn apart.

The arrival at the southern tip of the island brings a welcome light of the sun peeking forth from the last of the clouds. On the horizon lies the promise of blue skies and dry hours.