Weekday mornings

I head west before dawn breaks, fleeing the sunrise. My windscreen weeps rain, the world is blurred by its tears. Ahead of me, always, a column of red eyes, glaring angrily but constantly backing away as though afraid of me. We swim through the darkness for a time, but the sky behind grows blue. I can't outrun the sun. It arrives eventually, its light stained grey as it passes through the clouds, and the red eyes disappear. They must be scared of the dawn as well.