One Night Only
Bumper to bumper, Shawn's inching along, moving at a snail's pace. It'd be quicker to walk at this rate. Some crazy motorcyclist flies by weaving in and out of traffic, along the emergency shoulder, across 4 lanes of traffic. He's the guy that's gonna hold us all up later as the emergency services peel him off the back of some trailer or scrape him off the asphalt, all blenderized up with his fibreglass crotch rocket and ballistic nylon body armour. Why did he take the car? Shawn's beyond frustrated, he's moved into aggressive affirmations: Please someone hit me in the face the next time I decide to drive through the city at rush hour on a whim to pick up tickets. Please please please, with a blunt object, right to my temple. Hard. The cars inch forward, red lights fading then slamming back on, re illuminating the creeping dusk like angry fireflies. His favourite time of day, quickly being lost to gridlock. The magic hour. At least the humidity broke. Windo...