drive

The shadows criss-crossed, growing longer, shorter, disappearing and reappearing on the dashboard. It was rhythmic, as long as his speed stayed constant and he doesn't meander out of lane. The drone from his engines was almost drowned out by the stereo whose volume was turned up loud enough to only neuter the whir. Occasionally, he could hear syncopated voices and music from the speakers. Arrhythmic. Yet at times, momentarily; almost serendipitously, in sync with the passing shadows cast on the dashboard.
If he wound down the windows, he could feel the howling wind which he can only imagine. But he likes it this way. For now.