...Or whatever the first title was. Yeah. Found another, really long, one. I think it's pretty neat, but that's me. It was a freewrite in a class, looking out the window at - well, if I figured it out, you can.

You know, it's funny, but reading this, I can actually still see the view of that pavement out the window. Interesting, no? Note also that, as a freewrite, this was written lacking paragraph breaks. I've put some in where I think they fit, for easier reading.

Six
The pavement through the window is cracked, scarred, stained. Each crevasse (crevice? No) is a ring: the thicker ones reveal harsh years and harsh weather. The spiderweb cracks, the hair line fractures - these speak of gentle wear and scrubbing. The painted lines [of tar], once surely so vibrant as to almost glitter when approached, are pock-marked and smeared.
Here is where Jenny rode her bicycle last winter when she almost didn't make it to finals because of the flu. We think now it could have been swine flu. We tease her about it, because she certainly ate mud - frozen mud - after the tire hit that crack in the parking lane.
There, this one - the one that looks like a network of highways and interstates around a baseball field - this is from when John drove that car into a tree. There was glass everywhere, and blood, and when the blood froze over and the glass cracked [even further], the road was ruined. The baseball diamond is where the oil spilled a little. That kept the water from cracking the asphalt. Or something.
We don't dare tease John about that one - it was a rental, and the mirror rolled halfway down the road and the engine was ruined and a few doors crumpled in.
He counts his blessings that no one was [seriously] hurt, but he has a few ten thousand little blessings he can't count anymore.
I say no one was hurt. Well, that tree there did grow crooked, and so I guess that should count, and it's incapable of growing leaves on one side. The side away from the road. Maybe trees are cross-brained.
The footsteps, the tires, the destinies that have trodden across those lines and over the cracks that divide the asphalt like Europe after a war - innumerable...
This complicated set of cracks here - they look like an elongated Italy, or like a Victorian hooker, whatever that is. [Our jury's still out.] Mostly it depends on who you ask and how much they've had to drink.
It was just a hair fracture in the road until someone drank too much, actually. It was Debbie. She'd had way too much booze - thank goodness she wasn't driving - and was still consuming alcohol when she passed out, mid-step, on the way to her friend's dorm. [The bottle broke, of course, the liquor spilling into the cracks and, obviously...] The friend started yelling for help, and Max, an English major, came down and gave Debbie CPR until the ambulance came. Rather, he was prepared to give CPR if he had to, but she was breathing, so he just waited with her until the ambulance came. Fortunately, it was only a concussion (coupled with a serious hangover). And, anyway, Max and Debbie practice doing CPR now whenever they can.
Beer, ice, glass, some blood, and a lot of skin. That's the formula for our scarred asphalt. A hummer just went by - not a hummer, really, but a jeep with big wheels, maybe - [I'm an English major myself, and I don't know cars -] just rumbled along. Beer, ice, glass, blood, skin - but rubber and several tons of steel weighing down surely helped as well.

So I don't know how satisfying an ending that is for you, but maybe that was the point. In any case, there it is, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.