sTmykal

Barreling full on overwrought mass of metal and disregard. Rubber wet with the excitement of V-12 pummeling pistons and diesel enraged suburban castration. A foot or two more and your front would have become my side.

Disbelief rearing yet again - for another moment of idiocy sends a blur of blue and sound of horn flying past the loyal commuters, whose only choice is to watch and pray. Your redneck rig spatters mist high in the wake of a traffic light gone bad.

A third time I am denied. Through small city streets rolls this delivery mans paycheck - tilting wildly to the left and then righting itself, with more than just a jerk - even with the one behind the wheel. To make the turn - to cut the light - to stay on time you risk my life. Your product of the masses is not even my choice. From green to amber to red, with no concept of the oncoming, the trailer is swung wide into opposing lanes. And never a friendly "How's my driving?" narc number to be had.