The car growls as she changes gears. The speedometer shoots upward, manically
twitching and jittering forward. A wall of traffic lies before her, her merge lane
cuts through it like a knife through margarine. She looks for a way in, anticipates
her entry onto the freeway. 35, 40, 45, 50, 55, 60. Upward, and upward, spiraling upward. She continues to go faster. As she gets closer, she is greeted by a sudden sea
of red. She reacts quickly, instinctively, slightly bears her foot down on the brake.
The car lulls a bit, but still presses forward. There is more red as she passes a yield
sign. She is ready. Breathing steady and calm, she grips the steering wheel confidently. Then, she sees it. A grey Crown Vic lags far behind a Ford Transit: her way in. She matches the Transit’s speed, presses on the gas gently, careful not to outpace it.
The solid presence of her merge lane becomes furious little dashes, signaling her to
take action. She cuts in, glides her car in its place behind the Transit. She has become a part of the sea of cars, moving and breathing in unison with them. She looks ahead blankly, at the mercy of the ebb and flow of traffic.
On the River 5
She is swept by a current
Into the unknown.
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