cab driver to midway

and you spoke to me in your good ol' boy tone as if you were from a place of grease monkeys where everyone ate italian beef and drank whiskey. you spoke to me of mind racing snow on your screen blowing your hard drive with rippling concrete streets like water crashing at the shore. blank faces of terror. you were clueless just a good ol' boy trying to enjoy da game in san francisco. you then heard the bridge collapsed. confusing thoughts of hot rods and chewing tobacco and rippling streets like hallucinations still not making any sense. the earth shook beneath your feet. our mother came from within our core errupting feelings bridges crashing down fires breaking lose. 67 dead hundreds injured.