a work in progress, part 2






Car no. 3


Two cigarettes left. Fuck. They better move this traffic soon. How long have we been sitting here? This is ridiculous.

Brad smoked one cigarette down to nothing. What a shitty day, he thought, what a stupid shitty job. What a dick wad boss. Cigarettes encouraged cursing, the smoke setting off an alarm of expletives. Fuck, what do you do with the butt when you can’t toss it out the window ‘cause you’re stuck in traffic and people will look at you like you’re fucking scum and then you have to put it out in the car and then the car stinks and Carl will have a little fit. Fuck. Fuck Carl. I’ll be fucking banging on car windows for a smoke if we don’t move soon. Look at that ass over there, white shirt and tie, talking on the phone to some other dick wad about his fuck-up staff. Fuck him. Fuck his BMW, his Macy’s sale rack sunglasses. It’s too dark for sunglasses, what, he thinks he’s a fucking movie star? What a loser.

Brad had to get out of the car, he thought he might have been gasping for air, gasping for something. Better. That’s better. I do good work, that’s right, good work. Fuck, I’m a team player, right? Except when Melody is on my team, Jesus, I hate that little shit. Melody. What kind of fucking name is Melody? Suck up, slacker, I’m cleaning up her shit all the time. What is it about her? Why is she constantly under my skin? Hey, there’s a woman smoking over there, thank God. She’s a nice looking woman, hey, she’s smoking, that’s enough, right? Women, why am I thinking about women? I haven’t thought about women in years. Whatever. What the hell happened up there? And what is with all this buddy shit on the bridge? Am I the only person pissed off here? No, look at that dumb shit. He’s about to throw his phone into the river. Ha! Breath, Brad, breath, don’t fucking flip out in a rush hour traffic jam. Hey, think about the poor bastards that are waitin’ for an ambulance up there. Think you’re havin’ a bad day!

He went back in the car and smoked his last cigarette, the smoke finally smothering his tiraid. He would ask the woman for another if he needed it. He played with the radio, read his mail (3 mails from Melody, 2 of which he deleted without reading), sent Carl a text, played a counting game to guess how long it would take for traffic to start moving. He watched shadows and fog take over the forms on the bridge and realized he was crying, and quickly looked in all the mirrors to see if anyone had caught him in this moment. He looked for a text but there was none. He slapped his forehead on the steering wheel a couple of times and and left the car to go bum that cigarette.


photo credit: shutterstock


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