Live Like Everyone's Watching

He drove. Too fast for conditions: slippery, freezy rainy. Late for work again; someday perhaps he'd learn the difference between AM and PM settings on the alarm clock. The pell-mell merge at the west end of Allendale, where two lanes of traffic have to cram into one in about fifteen feet. He was stuck behind a white ark going 47 down a state highway; posted speed was 55, customary speed was 65. This was ridiculous. He could barely see ahead of him, but he couldn't lose a cent of pay to this old goat in the Town Car. By now a line of ten or more cars was stacked behind him like 747s over O'Hare, waiting for the main chance. Finally he saw an opening, and floored it, squeezing by, flying a middle finger at the slow-ass bitch.

He turned to look. He saw a surprised white-haired elderly lady. It was his own grandmother.