Fly Over

The fly-over seemed to be there before my memories of the city started, though I had never driven on it since I had never visited that part of the town, and probably wouldn't ever do so but for the-girl-in-red-canvas-shoes I had recently met inside the smokers' room at the airport. When I drove onto it for the first time—it was a winter night a few years back—I noticed it was steeper than anything I had seen before and appeared to be the most spiraling structure ever made without doubt, since it never stopped curving to the right. I also realised it is a very long fly-over indeed; I called the-girl-in-red-canvas-shoes to say I was surprised by the length of the fly-over which she apparently took to work everyday, though I did not expect to be any delayed, since I was able to drive fast, mine being the only car on the fly-over. She said indeed it was the longest one to the best of her knowledge, and it would take me a while to put it behind. She was right; It took me 13 years 4 months and 22 days to cross it, through which I called her 127 times, the last call made a little after 6 months since that winter night, since she told me not to call her anymore for I was a bit too delayed and the wine she had kept for me wouldn't keep that long. The good thing was, after a very long drive which certainly appeared too long to cross a fly-over of any kind, I reached the end of it, past midnight on a hot day, and I should say I was surprised to see the fly-over had ended at the peak of its height, as if someone had forgotten to build the part of it which descented down to earth. Against the stars that now seemed annoyingly close, thankfully, I spotted a traffic warden, who told me the only way forward was to fly over the city that looked like a faint recollection of everything that I had experienced in my life before I had ascended the fly-over. I told him I would rather go back to my part of the town from where I had started the climb, to which he softly answered, with a kind yet callous kind of strictness in his tone, that the fly-over had been made for one-way traffic.

P.S. This one is special.