The food trucks underneath the freeway

It never bothered me before, standing underneath the freeway overpass. The gigantic concrete thing that flew over 2nd Street. I have walked down that street many times as I strolled with my team for lunch to South Park. I have rode under it to get to the bike path on Townsend. The flurry and noise of traffic never bothered me until…

…I stood under it at the G-Food Truck Lounge.

I had been there once on my own and with a friend. And I don’t know how to describe it, the noise was suddenly overwhelming. And this is to someone who lives on a busy traffic where the sounds of cars and trucks clatter past my front door every day. The sound of traffic is meant to be soothing. But for some reason, this wasn’t. As the cars and trucks rode over the roads overhead, bumping over small road dividers, their engines, their whoosh echoed down below. And although I could occasionally block it out, the noise touched a deep fear circling in my heart.

Was it because I was afraid of being run over? Was it because I felt the noise closing on me? Was it the space of hipsters, office workers, tech people that squished me?

I only remember the same feeling when I stood in front of an ocean at Santa Cruz. The noise of the waves was oddly terrifying. They never bothered me before as a Californian. I have seen them repeatedly before. But the noise echoed and sounded louder around the cliffs…and my body instinctively wanted to get away. But instead, just like I did today, I stayed there and waited for what I sought.

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