He stared dully ahead. The soft sand colored blur of winter-dead grass slid on by in the dim light of his periphery. Stretching onward, a dull dusty road formed an unstoppable isosceles triangle …
But, that damned drab pick-up refused to speed up, blocking out the distant vanishing point.
He could imagine past it, though, to a distant place of conceivable future happiness, sunnily lit on some golden afternoon. Future days of possible joy are always bathed in afternoon light.
But, the past still weighed backward; an inescapable morass of previous missteps and bad ideas stuck heavily and ever-widening behind him.
And still that godsdamned truck refused to move.