by Raymond M. Fremont Jr.

I was driving down route 3 the other day. Not just any other day
though - this was a very special other day. Today was the first day
that route 3 was reopened from construction.
You'd think that we little commuters would rejoice from the freedom
of our shackled commute. You'd think but you'd be wrong. Actually
we'd finally adjusted to the initial tweening of our schedules, it
took three months but we did it. We became accustomed to sticking our
heads into cold showers and grabbing a Pop Tart on the fly as we ran
to our already warming cars - all to shave 15 minutes off the commute
to compensate for traffic while not losing that all important last 15
minutes of sleep.
It's true, we've reluctantly but completely adapted to having at
least five mornings a week like that. All in all, an amazing feat. and
now, now they get rid of the construction. Now it's "We're done! Ride
free! Be early for work!"
Ugh.
Well there is a positive side. Be it small and left abundantly under
appreciated, a proverbial rose arrives.
This rose can be a glorious one on the right morn (and considering
the infrequent nature of this "right morn" it would be rude to not
make this the "right morn" by any means necessary). The rose is thus -
 the thrill, the all out joy and perfection of cruising 70 downhill
on brand new smooth like butter asphalt. No cars in front of you, no
nooks for cops to hide, just the liberated sleek road, you and crisp
morning air.
Ahh.
And on this other day, on this very special other day I had decided
to enjoy this, be it small and unappreciated, rose of a drive. "My
God has made many things beautiful."
There I sat, first car at the light on the Providence Road
intersection of Route 3. Smudged tar marking the horizon between me
and the wonderful new asphalt.
The light turns green.
I hit the gas and instantly. I'm a car length ahead of the Chevy on
my right - I'm a left laner as though you were unaware.
Well, here comes the sad part. You knew it was coming - it's in the
title for Christ's sake; so quit looking at me like that. I bring it
up so abruptly because what follows is kind of strange. It makes
little sense considering the beginning of the story, but it happened
and just this way.
Maybe it was the crisp morning air; maybe one of the old souls that
inhabit me has some type of inclination for ruining perfect
occurrences. Whatever it was, it started as soon as I saw the dead
squirrel in the middle of the road.
This wasn't just any dead squirrel; I mean wasn't a special dead
squirrel or anything. I'll explain, the squirrel was um - outstanding
literally. I mean it stood out because it had a white line painted
right down the lumpy side (as opposed to the flat side against the
road). Yes, it had the white stripe, meant for the road, covering the
lumpy side of its body.
Wait, it gets stranger.
The first thing that crossed my mind was the life of the squirrel
just a few hours ago. While I was swiftly showering my head in cold
water, it was licking itself clean. As I grabbed the Pop Tart from
the toaster, it was running off to find some berries or acorns or
something probably decent for breakfast. Yes, it was running off and
while it ran, not too far from home it stopped. Stopped at the sight
of the fresh blackness of the brand new asphalt. It may have been
enamored, as I was, by the smoothness or brilliant onyx or the road.
And as it crept closer and closer to the amazing spectacle before it.
Closer and closer it found itself right in the middle, right beneath
a huge white rolling paintbrush.
Ahhggg.
Just like that. Dead.
As I stared the car behind me beeped. a second time. "What is this a
school zone?!"
What the hell was I supposed to do now? Enjoying this drive was out
of the question. The ethical equivalent to dancing on your mother's
grave. Maybe some people could do that, not me though. Not this
morning.
I eventually came to my senses and did the only thing I could do, no,
no. that's not true. I did the only thing that I would allow myself to
do. I pulled into the right lane and drove in sadness with the
others.

Raymond M. Fremont Jr. is a comfortable wage slave in the dawn of a 
career in corporate America. "...and if I've learned one thing from the 
dawn it's that I want to be retired by noon."

As a poet, he's mediocre and as an idiot, he's savant.

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