sixty eight and sunny

The left turn arrow turns green, but the car in front doesn’t move. Two seconds go by before the truck in front of me lays on his horn. This is not a polite beep.


We make the sharp left turn up the hill. Another large truck is up my bumper, intent on making the light, even though it has already turned red by the time he reaches the intersection.

It is a steep hill, with a beautiful view of the Pacific Ocean and the harbor. A guy with shiny black hair is riding his bike up the wrong side, tacking back and forth to keep momentum. There is a blind corner up top. A thick double yellow line painted down the middle. Max speed: 25 mph.

The car in front of the line isn’t moving fast enough for the Texas truck in front of me. He peels out, middle finger raised out the window, horn blaring…I guess he really must have been laying on the horn, if one hand is out the window and the other is (hopefully) on the steering wheel. He must have a lot of practice. I wince at the loud noise his tires make and at how uncomfortably close he veers towards the guy on his bike.


Luckily, the squeal of tires is not followed by a crash of metal, although two seconds later is would have been. Blind corner, after all. At the top of the hill, the Texas truck takes his sweet time at the four way stop. The slow car, now behind him, lays on his horn. Middle finger raised out the window.

“BEEEeeeeeep! BeeEEEEEPPPP!” His horn, like his car, and (hopefully) his rage, isn’t as big, but he’s not willing to let this go. They both turn left, horns still blaring and fingers still flying.

I go straight. Home. It is sixty eight and sunny. The ocean is beautiful. Many people are out enjoying the sunshine, walking their dogs, going for a jog. And I think Рpolitics. These two yahoos with their rage and impatience Рthey are the ones getting all the attention. The rest of us are really pretty reasonable. And while it might not be dramatic or headline-worthy, we are the majority. We will be okay.