So, I’m on the 91 freeway. Stop and go traffic.
We stop. We go. We stop. We go.
It’s an old story.
This time, though, the woman behind me, driving what appears to be a Ford Explorer, has zipped into my lane at speed and someone forgot to tell her the “stop” part.
She slams on her brakes – I can hear them over Enigma playing on my car stereo – and she gets that rigored tight snarl stretched across her face, the one you get when you’re about to slam into some guy’s Honda Civic with your two-ton Explorer…
And I think about how I’m out of work and what little luck I’ve had with bringing any money into the house and how my unemployment insurance is about to run out and how I need to refile though I just lost my job about a month and a half ago… and how swell Vicky’s been and how horrible it’ll be to have to tell her that my car’s totaled…
And I can see the fear in this woman’s eyes as she’s about to plow into me…
And she doesn’t. She stops just in time.
Sometimes, the other shoe doesn’t drop… just yet, at least…
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