Highway Star

He drove. Heading to work. Making the turn off the highway onto 120th. A truck turned behind him, and roared right up onto him, clearly intending to pass. Now, he was not the manliest of men, but behind the wheel, his worst impulses always came to the fore, and there was no way this guy was going to pass him; he was not in the mood to leave his testicles dangling from some dude's rearview mirror. He sped up. The truck sped up too. 70 mph in a 55 zone. But then, ahead, a guy in an ancient Ford Exploder, going about 42. He slowed down, stayed behind the Explorer. The guy behind, in a big new Ram, went to pass, but he swerved left and blocked his passage. Naturally, this pissed him off. Now, with oncoming traffic, he swung back to the correct lane--the guy behind stewing through one, two, three cars whizzing by--then trying to pass again, being blocked again. Now he was gesticulating, swearing, dialing his cell phone. Some yuppie scum in a buzz cut and a powder blue dress shirt and a big penis Hemi engine truck. Riding his bumper, surging left then right, all the while the putzer doing 42, oblivious to the drama. Four way stop. The guy gets out of his truck, starts walking toward him. He guns it, burning through the stop, leaving the guy staring, dagger eyes, phone dangling from his hand. Looking back, he sees the guy get back in, gun it, roaring up on him, determined to get past this mysteriously antagonistic asshole in a rusting Intrepid. But here's the turn to work, so he let the Ramdick blow past, then leisurely make the right turn. Only then does he realize his hands are shaking uncontrollably, his heart racing, feeling almost sick. Someday this is going to get him killed. Someone is going to have a gun, or will nudge him into a ditch, or push him sideways into a head-on collision. But till that day, he'll be damned if he lets himself be passed up. He's poor, and ugly, and stupid, but hey, on the roadways, the illusion of power is still intact.