Below, the cars rush by. Letting people in, cutting others off, and occasionally, honking their horns. These are my simple amusements as rush hour commences.

The drivers look up at me. When I was new, of course, I got lots more attention. I had a funny catchphrase and bold lettering and an easy number to memorize. Now, I am a familiar sight. Few smile. Many commuters seem to be on guard, wearily hustling to get to where they are going. Some drivers belt out songs in their car- their battle cry for the day ahead. When the MARTA train passes, its riders, some grateful and perhaps smug, glance down at the traffic slowed to a crawl.

I recognize plenty of the cars that pass each morning. I notice the old, beat up Toyotas still running and humming along. I see souped up vehicles, and I watch with glee as the people in the cars around them, without failure, roll their eyes at the racers marking their territory. I smile at the little old ladies, dressed to the nines in their towncars. They crane over their steering wheels to observe the road ahead.

Night is my favorite time. My shining spotlights turn on, and there is no choice but to look at the dark and blank sky, the road, or up at me.

Deeper in the night, after the bars turn off their signs and before the commuters first stir, we have brief hours of solitude. Sometimes, we break the silence and discuss between ourselves. The truckers who occasionally pass us might blink and decide to stop for a coffee if they think they caught sight of us billboards talking.

Among us billboards, the wisest and oldest sign is for a steakhouse. He is quiet and during our gatherings, a blissful and tranquil sign serenely looking out to the distance. I would be at peace too if my job were as easy as making a steak seem delicious.

The most talkative is the PSA board. Every few months, they have a new cause to share. They beat their drum for not texting and driving, for arriving alive, buckling up, and other do-gooder messages for the masses. The PSA board and I have a bit of a rivalry. I advertise for an attorney. I warn readers to drive safely. Though I promote this message for safety, no one truly trusts my intentions when I collect on the public ignoring my warnings and remembering my number.

Our rivalry is tame, and at the end of the day, we have a degree of warmth from knowing we're both just doing our job. We didn’t choose who painted our canvas, but we make the best of it. As is with the commuters below, we are trying to make a living.