It’s Friday, and I managed to dodge the strafing gunfire from the fighter jets flying low above the cityscape horizon, as I made my way into work this morning. The guy in the SUV in front of me, not so lucky, and only my keen driving skills kept me from colliding with the flaming heap of tragedy suddenly just ahead. Admittedly, dude had been driving way too slow. Still, a tough way to go, with the weekend nudging so close.
At the stoplight with the bandits, I had the sense to slam my car door into the one fast-approaching me; he was clutching a change bucket and waving a bloody Kalashnikov with a price tag still dangling from it, jabbering about funding the revolution. Down he went, and off I did as well. Another near-miss. Some days, y’know?
But the gaping gash that opened in the middle of the road near downtown was a bit more of a challenge. Sink holes, which seem to be everywhere these days. I made a careening U-turn, skirting the very lip of the thing — which, for all I know, opened straight down into hell itself — and continued my drive to work in a more roundabout way, the screams of the not-so-fortunate thankfully fading within about a city block. I did have to turn up my radio a little there for a bit, some hokum about girls in boys’ underwear. The screams of the not-so-fortunate can be kind of a downer so early in the day.
But I made it, people. I made it, hallelujah, hey.
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