Stuck in the slogging traffic of the 5 just south of San Clemente on a Sunday evening, I catch a flash of light and check my rearview mirror. It takes a half-minute to decipher all the headlights and dim shapes behind them before I deduce that I have a motorcycle on my tail, splitting lanes. So I courteously pull to the side of my lane to let you through. As you roar by, you pound my side mirror with your fist as if to break it and deliver the finger. Proving the urgency of your passage, only a half-mile later, you weave through the traffic to the right lane and exit. Which is a good thing. If I’d been a little less steady, your assault might have startled me into jerking the wheel, and clipping your rear tire would have left a big mess on the road. Suicidal impatience is not a survival characteristic.
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