Need New Wiper Blades

There is a blurred brumous haze. Afloat upon a invigorating mourning. Alive with the aroma of petrol and cigarette smoke. The glass somewhat stained with a rich smoky grey. Raindrops like perspiration on a mother in childbirth. A broken window wiper beats a jungle beat. Across the clammy windshield. Harsh noises of horns honking. Intermix with the wiper blades. To make a cruel early mourning remix. Of yesterdays one hit wonder on the radio. I am not asleep nor am I fully awake. For my eyes are as heavy as the static rain. I am blinded by the oncoming onslaught of lights and traffic. Like a metal stampede rushing at me. As if i'm a capeless matador.