FRIDAY DRIVER, YEAH
SEATTLE I should have left earlier. I know, I know. I was just ... tired. You try teaching, writing, updating a guidebook and editing a Silicon-Valley startup.
The PT Cruiser and I hit the crest of traffic, the early weekend escapees. The rental's vile, like a geriatric baby-buggy. Though compact, it has none of that genre's spry virtues. I hates it forever.
Interstate-5 is a parking lot. I amuse myself with the stereo. Turkish techno music loud enough makes the rearview mirror blur every three beats.
The crash is louder still.
I freeze, assessing, assessing. If someone rear-ended the Cruiser, I would feel all whiplashly, right?
The two cars behind me swing onto the verge, presumably to exchange insurance details. But did the Toyota tap my bumper? Am I leaving the scene of an accident?
I drive so infrequently the odd rental or Mike's dump-run truck my instincts are stunted. Some things are obvious, like the shift knob ricocheting onto the floor in the dark (love that truck). But subtle car stuff? Not my forte. Really, I couldn't give a monkey's...
So I step on the gas. Whatever's happened, I have seaweed to eat first.