honk if you're human

my life in the slow lane

We left just after dinner and drove all night.

The van was old, did not maintain speed and the steering?

The steering was merely an approximation, a suggestion as to where we intended to go.

It was late afternoon as we approached the smaller cities outside of Toronto. Traffic was bumper to bumper and crawling. Suburban commuters were grinding home from their desks one meter at a time.

Such traffic was unfamiliar to me. The city was a hour and a half away. Despite this, the traffic was bumper to bumper for miles. I looked into the windows. People looked really not really.

Some looked angry. A couple were smiling. Most though? Most looked sad, disassociated and somewhat zombified. I was filled with energy by them. Inspiration? Not so much. I was terrified that I could turn into them - mid level cubical jockeys piloting sensible vehicles to plastic homes clinging to a manufactured landscape all looking ahead and playing the traffic jam game: Gas, brake. Repeat.

Ratraceratraceratraceratrace! I …