KaciccoliJr
Jackie hops into the salt-crusted driver seat of her 1999 Toyota Corolla. Jackie is 24 years old and a thirty-minute drive away from her job at the Chic-fil-a in Long Beach. Her shift starts in twenty and traffic is not looking great today. Twelve minutes into the drive and Jackie isn't but six miles from her Anaheim apartment and, according to Google Maps, she's got 18.5 still to go. She grips the steering wheel and presses the gas as she flys westward down 91. Jackie and Megan thee Stallion simultaneously scream: "I'm the hood Mona Lisa," as Jackie nears the split to get onto to I-710. She slaps on her right turn signal and tries to get over from the left lane. The guy immediately to her right is lost in a daze. Jackie speeds up--and so does he. Jackie hits the brakes. So does he...
I roll down the passenger window and stick out my head. I take a pebble from my pebble pouch and throw it at his window to garner his attention. He looks at me, with an expression that is both startled and angry.
"HEY YOU, #!@--&!%@! GET THE %!&#^ OUT OF THE WAY!!" I say, shaking my fist in the sky from out the window.
He obliges my request.
Jackie takes a left onto Atlantic and slowly puts her foot down on the brake. We have made it, and only five minutes late.
"Thank you so much, Ken!" Jackie says, pulling a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from the pocket of her black skinny jeans.
"It is my pleasure, Jackie." I say, nodding to the Chic-fil-a visor on her forehead. I exit the car and look down at my phone--Jeff Wembly lives two minutes away and his Mother's anniversary lunch starts in just 15 minutes. He hasn't left the house yet...