Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𖤓
"Jesus Christ, why are you driving so slow? Are you contemplating whether or not you're going to drive off the bridge and kill us for some insurance money?"
"What are you talking about? I'm going the speed limit. Fixty-five. And what money do you or anyone else in this car have for me to possibly take?"
I laughed. Even though the offense was directed toward me as well, it was funny.
An irritated scoff aired. "Baby, you're going fourty-five..."
That explains the horn ruckus and vehicles passing us with fury commotion outside.
An awkward pause transpired. "...Same difference."
A silence occurred between the two. Ready for The World can sing their hit, Oh Shiela in peace now.
After Irish and Dalvin's conversation ceased, I gave my undivided the second best form of entertainment—looking out the window. I leaned forward. Bodies of water and boats filled with people on top speedily brushed past as we drove across the bridge.
Not just any bridge, though. The Woodrow Wilson Bridge. His giant stone statue briefly occupied my vision—standing still on the far side of the bridge considered the exit. It then flew behind me, becoming a memory. Woodrow is a symbolized political figure. He was the twenty-eighth President of the United States and an academic. But in this case, he's a landmark.
We returned to the highway—joining many cars, trucks, buses, and vans. I noticed the speed of the car accelerates to match the other drivers. Dalvin must have been nervous on the bridge—poor thing.
