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| A Dance to the Music of Time |
Pretty typical morning commute westbound on the BQE. Windows down for the first time in weeks. Coming through what I call the "Brooklyn Flats," where the BQE parallels Flushing Ave. and the Navy Yard. An off-white (or just plain dirty) Sentra, a bit the worse for wear, shoehorned itself between me and the car in front. I glanced at his plates, now just feet away: ACCPTNCE.
The first question that came to mind was, his or mine? (The second was, why not just one "C" and another "A" or "E"? Poetic driver's license, I suppose.)
This post dedicated to the memory of Margaret Thatcher. Acceptance doesn't quite do justice to what she demanded.
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