My commute -- a stream of consciousness report

I usually listen to the radio. I really like driving fast around the curvy flyover. I sometimes pass a herd of black cattle munching grass on the last remaining span of stripmall-free land by the highway. Sometimes I envy what I assume is their blissful ignorance. Then I remember what I had for dinner last night. The two vultures that were noshing on a deer carcass near the new Harley store yesterday morning were still eating it this morning. (Or another two vultures; I have no way of knowing.) Depending on the time of year and time of day, the sun is usually at a certain place in the sky that can't be blocked by my car's tiny visors. I do a lot of squinting but I'm very aware of my surroundings. The police have particular favorite spots to crouch with a radar gun. I've learned most of them; however, there is sometimes a cop who thinks he's clever and hides in a new place. Fortunately I've not been speeding when they do this. Well, not speeding much. It usually takes me 30 minutes to get from my house to my office. Then another three to walk from the parking lot to the door. I always mean to leave the house at a certain time, but end up a little late. Mostly because I'd rather stay in bed and listen to radio.