there is this stretch of

there is this stretch of road that i often drive from kristina's house to mine [or vice versa] where
time seems to do something unusual. speed up or slow down, or just mutate in some way
that i can't quite understand. I watch the lights blur by sitting at the wheel.
my heart leaping out to the whores on the street whose sadness and pain i can sense.
whenever i get home, it feels as if i wasn't driving at all.
memory loss.
but maybe what time does isn't unusual in the least.
maybe it moving 'normally' is really what is strange.
maybe it is mutating all of the time.
time time time time tiemktemitmeimtiemitmeiti.
it owns me.
i want that to change.