Monday, November 05, 2007


We were stuck in traffic. Long lines of cars, ambulances wailing, SWAT teams--just a typical day in the big city.

"Did traffic always stress you out so much?" Gloria asks. I assume I'm white-knuckling the steering wheel or gritting my teeth.

"Only when I'm in it," I said.

"Maybe you could bring a digital recorder and work on story ideas," she said.

"That's a good idea," I said. "Here's what a typical entry would sound like: 'October twenty-sixth, one p.m., and I'm stuck in *%$#ing traffic. This $*&damn traffic drives me crazy'."

"You could write a book," she said.

"I could," I said. "It would be titled 'This $*&damn Traffic Drives Me Crazy"," I said. "I can just see the reviews now: 'curiously one-dimensional,' says the New York times. 'Angry and repetitive,' says the Washington Post.

"If Chuck Palahniuk wrote a novel in a traffic jam, it would read like this," Gloria said.

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