Ain’t Nobody Got Time For A Wreck

Ain’t Nobody Got Time For a Wreck

In New Mexico, we often laugh uproariously at the highway signage “Gusty Winds May Exist.”
“Who wrote that?” my sister asks, “Jean-Paul Sartre?”
I have no idea whose fault this existential locution is—I just enjoy the heck out of it. I do also like “Hill Blocks View” which so dryly states the obvious.
The sign on a southeastern part of an interstate is a bit more down home. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR A WRECK it proclaims. Ungrammatical. And it has me wondering-—how is that true? Don’t we actually have all the time in the world for the wreck of our hopes and fears, our resolutions, our dreams, our aspirations? Isn’t it human fate to fail and try and…
The next line flashes—-SLOW IT DOWN. What does “it” refer to? Ungrammatical again. Something James Brown might shout to his percussion section? Is “it” the car? The speed? Life itself? No, because then we’d have time for a wreck. Which we don’t want. Along with those pesky gusts.

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