Section B10 on 202

I litter the same winding, rubber abused road almost every day with two cigarettes, one while going and one while returning. As my lungs fill with the last bit of chemical soaked smoke, my fingers thrust the recessed filter out of the window. It gets swept up by the slip stream that's created by the other cars driving both north and south. I try to follow it's path through my rear view mirror but it's path is too erratic and I'm too worried about causing an accident. It tumbles for a few terrifying seconds and it's gone and I will never see it again. The remainder of the drive consists of me wishing I would've sprung for the 100s and the fear that the last bit of cigarette I just tossed is still lit and is now in the beginning stages of a forest fire. I'll worry about it on the way back. The road curves, bends, and barrels through two rival sides of a once harmonic forest. The pavement separates them like a mother would do to her two bickering sons. A few hours will go by until I'm back in my car, smoking a cigarette and traveling in the opposite direction. But, I can't help finding myself excited about being back on the road solely due to that minuscule chance of a massive fire awaiting my return.