It's a Wild Hurricane

I drive a Subaru Impreza. It is not a turbo. It doesn't have a hemi in the boot for added torque or anything like that. It's a pretty straightforward, vehicle that right now is lacking one license plate light because I have no idea how to slide open the doo-hickey like the YT mechanics show to replace the bulb.

I drive it rather unadventurously back and forth to work five or more days a week. Perhaps the greatest thing about not having a life is there's little to interfere with being a drone and I have been a Drone's Drone for decades (and have the trophies on the fireplace mantle now that you ask, but you didn't).

I putter the twelve plus something miles from my house to my work in the oh dark thirty of the early morning, somewhat successfully between the casino shifts at Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun before the first shift at EB takes to the road.

More often than not I use the state highway to go to work. It's two lanes, a lot of repaved less than a lifetime ago so it's in pretty decent shape unlike so much of the infrastructure these days with which we surround ourselves, and traffic, at the hour I drive it, is okay and not too much of a problem.

Coming home in the afternoon, because now, psychologically we're on 'my' time, I bang the left at the Mohegan Pequot Bridge which has been the subject of constant expansion discussions for more years than I care to think about (to include all the time the Mohegan Sun casino on the far shore of the Thames River has been open) and yet despite all that talk, the inadequate bridge has remained exactly the same. Imagine my surprise.

The drive home is a LOT more intense, because for the most part all of us are now on our own time and see one another as an obstacle to getting home. The other day the guy one car behind me in the right lane, the lane that disappears as you head over the bridge  after you make the left at the light, I believe, based on his outrageous roadrageous behavior, thought he had a Testarossa. From where I was it looked a lot more like a Tiburon.

And that, my friend, is why you only saw the back end of my Impreza all the way over the bridge, no matter how much skittering and darting you did back there, but also why I offered you a from the bottom of my heart rigid digit salute as you passed me horn honking but then missed your shift gate and fell off the pace, badly.

Laugh?  Moi? Not even the half of it. I thought I'd die banging my head on the dash.
-bill Kenny