Bridges always made Kevin squeeze the handle above the
car door. Every imperfection in the
suspended black pavement made his heart skip several beats and his intestines
fickle at best. With his free hand Kevin constantly tugged the touch display of
his phone down, watching the wheel spin, updating the traffic report. Any
longer on this stretch of woven metal death and he would have to be sick. His
breakfast was meager, but enough to warrant the air sickness bag in his
briefcase.
The other men in his carpool were talkative after their
twenty ounces of liquid caffeine.
“Did you see last night’s episode of that new sitcom?”
“Do your kids have any sports games this weekend?”
“Happy hour?”
For the most part the other four men occupying the car
were harmless. They couldn’t strike fear into the heart of a traumatized
toddler and yet their inattentiveness and aloofness about the bridge below made
Kevin hate them in those eight to fifteen minutes as they crossed from New
Jersey into New York.
This time, as they passed into the lower level of the
George Washington Bridge Kevin watched as the traffic crawled to a standstill.
In a whirlwind of internal panic he swiped his phone downward to reload the
traffic report. His face went white as whatever air he had seeped from his
lungs.
His phone read: Three car accident of the GW this
morning. One lane traffic. Expect forty-five to ninety minute delays for
eastbound traffic.
No comments:
Post a Comment