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Out of the corner of my eye, she races past me. Whizzing in and out of traffic lanes in her little black sports car. Then the lights go red in front of us and all of the lanes come together. Eventually I pull up next to her and I notice some details:

her zebra print steering wheel cover with matching car seats.
her red pumps in the rear window (a back-up plan or an ornament?)
the multicolored scratches of notblack paint on the passenger side door. (friend or foe?).

What was most interesting was that as she moved in and out of all of this gridlock she was intently applying makeup the entire time. Her face glued to the rear view mirror and her mouth in a kind of pursed lip grimace. Who knows if she was filled with ultimate confidence in her own driving skill or the kindness of strangers. The only thing that was clear was that she was blissfully unconcerned.

Maybe her car came with autopilot.

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