From what I can see, everybody has an important life to lead. Places to be, things to accomplish, work to do: bills to pay.
Very few of us are in the owning class. We have to work.
So when I’m out on the street with cars rushing hither and thither, I have to wonder why most of our streets look like an addict’s living room.
Trash, broken stuff, filth. Noise, arguments, tempers lost. Beads of sweat forming on drivers when the car in front of them is moving slower than they would like.
What are we addicted to?
Let’s start by defining some addiction markers.
- The advertiser offers you an amazing deal, promising this will get you ahead of the pack, buy you true love, freedom, power, more money. (Sex trafficking often starts with a promise like this.)
- He offers a sleek vehicle with all the comforts, privacy, freedom – and thrills, even in promising sexual thrills and satisfaction. You know you’re tired of the daily grind and somehow you think this will fix it.
- You even get a free ride, a free sample. You’re sold.
- The next day, it’s back to the highway, gridlock, careless drivers, too careful drivers, breakdowns, crashes, and ambulances. Not to mention the amount of money that found a hole in your pocket, keeping up with the burdens of that wonderful thing.
- When you start the engine, the thrill is still there. Your body, organic as it is, tries to match the RPMs of the engine. Your animal brain copes with the unnatural speed by putting on filters and blinders. The car protects you from wind, rain, heat, and cold. It numbs you to your place. To where you are.
- The street becomes merely a means to an end. Pedestrians, animals, plants: all are in your way. Violence erupts toward anyone who is in the way of your high.
And the street looks like an addict’s living room.