The sun is beating through my windshield, causing both a glare for me to look through, and an uncomfortable tingle on my fingers. Traffic is at an absolute standstill, but really, what else could I expect? It’s Los Angeles for Pete’s sake. 4:30 in the afternoon on the 405. One would think I’d know better by now. Maybe I do. I don’t think I care.

I look around at the people in the cars next to me. There’s a balding man with glasses to my left, in a red Volvo Junker. Oh look, we’re moving a whole foot and a half. As my foot moves from the brake, to the gas, and back, a shot of pain rips up my leg. Son of a-

I must be quite the spectacle. No matter. Nobody is paying any attention to me anyhow.