Infarction

 Harry concrete drove us onto the offramp.
But it was no offramp.
It was a company carpark above a proverbial highway.
with narrow driveways and dispatch garages.

Everything was late there.
Outside the car the asphalt was a reoccuring heartattack.
I tried to walk on it and ended up leaning on a wall.
I was running out of air.

I should have stayed inside the car.
But the claustrophobia forced me out.
The grey overhead.
The grey underneath.

The long heartattack.
The urgency and deadlines.
The meaninglessness.
Sucked through coffee lid hole.