One of Those Dreams

I’m driving. No. I’m cruising. On 280. Alone. In the driver’s seat wearing my sunglasses that don’t really filter out any sunlight anyway, let alone UV rays.
But I don’t care. There are hardly any other cars on the road—or maybe I just don’t notice. I feel light and free, like I’m just gliding on the asphalt.
Smooth, effortless asphalt.
One hand on the wheel, the other arm on the car door propping my head up, I glance detachedly at the speedometer. I’m going 80. 90. 95. 150. 200…
I can’t stop.
I’m going fast. Too fast. Out of control.
I take my foot off the gas, but I just keep going faster. 250. 300. 325.350.400…
I am panicking. No other cars. No people. No police.
But I’m panicking. Like I’m expecting it. Anticipating it.
What is “it”? “It” is a brick wall. A big, red one.
And it came out of nowhere. In the middle of 280.
And in a split second I am going to hit it.
It's one of those dreams.