I am taking the usual route to my office. The four miles distance usually takes less than ten minutes.
It’s a ride that I have taken a hundred times, twice a day, five days a week, all year round.
It takes me through a one-lane road off route 1. The road is winding with leaved tree houses on both sides.
At the end of that road, I take a right and merge onto Route 33, a two-lane road, slightly faster which takes me all the way to the office.
This is just another of those days.
As I drive mundanely barely paying attention to route 1, I see a car ahead of me. It’s a white Mercedes SLK 650 convertible.
However, it’s the vanity tag that gets my attention.
On a silver rectangular plate surrounded with pink trimmings are two glorious words — HOT GRL.
I suddenly perk up in attention.
Keeping an eye on the road I try to catch a glimpse of the occupant ahead. With a one-lane road, I am stuck behind.
I see glorious curls of hair.
The window is open and an elbow sticks out.
As our cars stop at the traffic light turning left, my excitement grows exponentially.
When the light turns green, I cut across another competitor on the left and hit the gas.
The tiny civic groans and slowly picks up speed closing the gap in the adjoining lane with the Merc.
As I eagerly look to the right, the face slowly comes into view.
The wrinkled 70-year-old woman with her hair flying in all its glory.
The stereo is blaring the latest Nicki Minaj tune.
As she turns to face me, the evil grin on the old bat’s face says it all.
Gotcha — You horny Indian bastid!
