Hands on the wheel


The click in the back of my mind pushes on and on. It lures me to go on. The sound of the engine singing and its roar shakes all my being. Have I gone deaf to the looks of my peers. ?I wake up in the morning and leave my smiling kid asleep. Who will pull his legs out of bed? Who will tickle him as he carries him on his shoulders. Those laughs that fill his empty moments waiting for the light to go green. Those giggles that became his soul solace in his rugged daily life. He looks at his hands that lost all the vehemence of his early years. At the time he knew what they served and were there. Now, he has to take care of them because they have to be operational. If not his whole manhood is reduced to null. This scenery repeats itself as his boss pleases. The only comfort is that he knows he would come back …

A soldier in his own domain he owes us some respect. We cross him on the street with that sneer. He left school and cannot answer our text messages. He has whatsapp and all in-applications on his smart phone. He recieves funny videos or sex scenes. Yeah it breaks his routine of no turn right or just stop here. He got expert at solving his passenger problems. He strikes conversations and excels at them. Then again he is left alone. Weary of the sours in his feet and back. He would comfort himself with fresh stories he proudly unveils to his neighbourhood friends. A saudi VIP lady asked me where i can find a fortune teller to keep my husband. They told me Moroccans excel at such practice. Another VIP Moroccan guy was ridiculed by his wife when he shouted at her. She wanted me to buy her hash. Whatever his friend weave, his story excels all the time and that keeps him go on.

His wife told him that her mother is coming over. He wholeheartedly gives his consent. It is the least he could give back to a once attraction of the neighborhood. He started smoking to soake his incapacity to hand her the happiness he promised in rosy days. She stopped school hoping to get all her whims answered by him. She dropped all her photography dreams. Her features cannot even carve a smile that once eluminated her face. She understood a while ago that the canevas prerequisites are not handy. Feet to hold it, hands to feel it and the eye to fathom its folds.

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