Let’s say your superpower has to do with crossing your eyes. While sucking the life out of your 15th morsel of high fructose corn syrup over the last 45 minutes. After a month of sleeping in a hot little log cabin. And by “sleeping,” I mean not really sleeping at all. Mostly scratching non-stop at the scabs left by the armies of mosquitoes that view you as their own personal high fructose corn syrup morsel. Perhaps this sleepless, scratching, sugar overdose bears a causal relationship to the cross-eyed superpower. Admittedly, we’ve gotten a bit circular. Perhaps a bit off-piste.
But “on-piste” here on a Massachusetts highway means an all out, space cushion-popping, steering wheel-gripping battle with, oh, about 25 million other drivers. So I wish we knew an alternative, off-piste route to get where we are going. Waze is no help. The bodiless voice keeps us entranced, laser focused on the bumper too close in front, a little buzzed from huffing on what smells like diesel fumes.
Once the cross-eyed wunderkind awakes from his coma-like backseat nap of a thousand years, he will use his newfound powers to speed along our drive. Clear a path. Add a little rocket fuel. Goose the engine. Something. Anything. At this point I’d settle for a quick and fleeting hit off that sticky lollipop, if I’m being totally honest.
Then again, that might constitute tugging on the aforementioned cape. And you don’t do that.
Thanks for reading.