whenever i'm in my car and have just narrowly missed hitting a pedestrian, the cure's "killing an arab" starts playing in my head. the conditions under which camus' meursault kills an arab and the conditions under which i can potentially run someone over are frighteningly similar. it is hot. it is by the beach. i am isolated from society in a metal box on wheels, and i answer to its laws (expediency, speed) rather than the laws of humanity.
then i get out of my car, walk into work, and hear some gangster padre tell his 3-year-old that if he doesn't hurry up, he'll shoot him in the face. quite casually.
About Me
- carola rola
- I unofficially take photographs and charm people for a living. Officially, I received a B.F.A. from Cornell University, and am now on the West Coast making websites, planting gardens, and damning the man. Be my friend at carol[dot]why[dot]zou[at]gmail[dot]com.
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