Looking Out The Window Essays - Eugne Christophe,

Looking Out The Window Looking out the window, a sign on the side of the road reads, ?speed limit 25?. I think it should be much higher, but I suppose residents of the road want to get out of their driveways without being smashed by a speeding car. I look down at the dashboard, which is covered with beer cans (there's no bottles because they always end up finding their way out the window and onto signs and other objects), various coins, and assortments of waste products. Directing my gaze away from the hideous sight of the trash, my eyes wander away and focus in on my speedometer. The pretty little numbers that encircle it go from 0 to 100. As my eyes wander, so does my mind. I think to myself, ?Why do speedometers go up to 100 if the highest speed limits are 55 But I suppose that I put mine to use quite frequently, at the moment its pushing 85. Raising my eyes to look back at the road, I see a sharp right turn coming up very soon. As I come upon this drastic bend in the road, I stomp on the brakes while s wiftly spinning the wheel clockwise. The tires squeal as the rear of the car slides into the opposite lane. I bring the back of the car to join in the lane that they both should be in. I continue down the long slab of asphalt that lies ahead of me. People on the side of the road point and stare as I thunder past them in my chariot. Quite a distance ahead, the traffic light at an intersection turns yellow; signaling to me to slow my automobile so that I will be able to stop once the light turns red. Bringing the auto to a complete halt, I admire the scenery around me. A blue Taurus, a green Jeep Cherokee, and an ugly 1975 Buick LaSabre are just a few of my fellow travelers of the road. The light flashes from red to green. I gently depress the gas pedal at first, but quick as a bolt of lighting, impatience gnaws at my sanity. After I've had about all I could take of this slow speed travel, I thrust my foot into the pedal, pushing it in as far as it will allow itself to be pushed. Crui sing at a leisurely pace of 60 mph, and still accelerating, I peep the rear view mirror. Much to my dismay, I spy a white car with a row of red and blue lights atop of the roof. Behind the wheel is a large man in a blue uniform, with a cheap badge. Checking my speed once again, I come to the sudden realization that I'm traveling at about 70 mph on a 30 mph street with a pig (otherwise known as an officer of the law) behind my speeding car. Casually I try to lower my speed in the hopes that the pig hadn't noticed I was going 40 miles above the speed limit. The chirp of sirens and the flash of colorful lights beckon me to the side of the road. I gently drift to the side of the road and come to a complete stop. The pig fiddles with himself in the car for a bit and then finally opens the door, actually he just cracks the door open a bit. He finally opens the door completely, and steps out. As he does this I take my good friend, mr. .45, and place him behind my back. Just in case officer dunkin mocha wants to cause trouble. After he closes his door, he pulls up his pant and adjusts his belt. He begins the walk to my car at the speed of a rolling donut, as if he were chasing after a Boston cr?me that had fallen from his clumsy hand. Looking into my mirror, I realize that there was a morning snack he was chasing, but it was cruller. The cruller had toppled onto its side right beside my door, and as the pig arrived next to my window, he bent down to pick it up. Thankfully he was facing me when he