The Sunol Exit

I travel 30 miles to work everyday. I like looking out the window to see California through its freeways, exits, gas stations, and bridges. It is a stark difference to the gray pavement that goes on endlessly in the New Jersey turnpike, peppered only sometimes by the occasional spindly tree or a flock of malicious pigeons. Nope, in California its different. Crossing the Dumbarton Bridge, sometimes when the tides are low there is a tiny island about a meter in diameter jutting off of the placid (and clean!) water. Sometimes I like to pretend that it were my island and I were two inches long and I can sleep there, nestled by the grass everyday, eating worms for breakfast, and having the best life ever.

I know that we've almost reached the Pleasanton exit when we've reached the Sunol foothills. The grass is a golden yellow, almost like long dog's fur. I'd like to pretend that the mountain was a giant creature's sleeping mass and that by the time I start workign, the giant wakes up and eats the passing drivers. Its a good thing I'm nestled here safely in my air conditioned cubicle, listening to the radio, and plowing the day away.