Road Rage

Lois pulled into the left turn lane under the freeway as the turn arrow changed to red. From our right, traffic started to move past us on the one way frontage road—except for one car with dark tinted windows that appeared stalled at the light. A woman in the car behind beeped her horn—perhaps for a second too long—because the stalled car door sprang open ejecting a muscular young guy who gesticulated and yelled profanities as he ran back to the horn blower's car. She backed up with a start, maneuvered around his car and sped away.

Now there were only two vehicles left for a quarter mile: ours with two seniors on board; and his with still opened door--while he was angrily kicking the side of his car. When he saw us watching his antics, he ran over to my window cursing with pumping fists, screaming that we were just sitting there and watching him—why weren't we helping him? [I have helped many stalled motorists in my life—but never under duress.] I shouted to Lois to get out of there. She did—legally so—properly waiting for the left turn arrow to turn green.

The Well Dressed Woman

Early this morning at Panera's I sat alone in "my" room in the over-stuffed chair by the fireplace, listening to classical background music, drinking coffee and reading the paper, when a well-dressed woman in her fifties sat down in the booth nearby, taking items out of her book bag to set up her space: three books stacked to her right, a computer tablet at the back, an old leather bound book to her left and an open journal and pen in front. When everything was in its proper place, she began gazing into the distance, stopping occasionally to jot down her thoughts in her journal.

After a while she left the room to return with a breakfast sandwich and a tall coffee.

I went back to reading the paper, when out of the silence came an ineloquent, "SHIT!" Her tall coffee cup was turned on its side. She didn't need my offer of help and cleaned up the mess, as I returned to my world.