The rock that almost hit my head at an alrming velocity had lain peacefuly on the grass for days upon days and countless nights. It saw the sun ski across the sky brushed by speeding cirrus cluds many times over. And then the stars and sometimes the moon taking their quick peek at the highway, endless red streamers swimming across it like neon lights. The heavy duty city mower drove over it with the reckless abandon typical of the big machines used by scruff men eager for five. It missed the drivers side window by four inches. It smashed into the quarter window of my hatch back, two centimeters above the '4' on the 240 SX logo. The broken safety glass quietly but continuosly split and cracked the rest of the way home. It reminded me of the comfortable groaning of ice between your molars. I'm glad that rock didn't hit my head. The sound of it hiting the car was deafening.