A four car pileup on the two-hundred, more after the weather, said the radio.

Red lights stuttered on the highway, and John’s neck glimmered with ruby beads of sweat.

6:39.

A large mechanical claw descended on the ashen husk of a Corolla, draped with a layer of snow. Like a guitar string too taut, Robert’s right eye twitched with every rubbernecker.

6:45

The bottleneck choked behind him. He pressed his foot on the soft soles of Italian leather shoes, one size too large, the only ones he bought this year; the engine hummed louder with the whooshes of wind. The wipers sloshed back and forth under the wet dollops of thick snow that crashed on his windshield. The four wheel drive caught the road and he pulled into the left lane, speeding away.

A bell rang in the car once, then again. Robert’s mind grasped at it and the voice of a woman emerged from some memory — this was the sound of his connected phone. He glanced down at the grid of buttons on his steering wheel.

was it… this button?