On the outskirts of town there is an overpass. It’s not too far away from the church I went to when I was a little kid. I think they shrank that church somehow; it used to be the most enormous building in the world, and now it is just a small church outside the city limits. I’ve never stood still on that overpass before, never watched the cars zipping so fast underneath my feet. I love watching traffic. It’s like an elaborate dance. All those people in all those cars, every single one of them has a story, a reason for driving. I wonder what those stories are. I wonder about their lives and loves and lonelinesses. I watch. And everyone goes, goes somewhere else.