Earlier today, I was out driving my way through the mess of Milwaukee afternoon traffic when I encountered a somewhat usual, garden-variety traffic jam. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that Dick Cheney was released from his cave and allowed to come to Milwaukee for a one-thousand dollar a plate luncheon, and this, in turn, dragged just about every Cheney-ac with a grand to burn out of the woodwork and onto the expressway.
Anyway, as I drove, I found myself slowing and stopping as I became but one single car in a crawling mass of many. Behind me, a bus grunted, and in front of me a sky-blue Buick with two gray heads inside lit up its brake-lights with a chaotic series of arrhythmic flashes independent of the cacaphony of the huddled mass of metal around us.
Sometimes, when I am stuck in these situations, I tend to let my mind wander over no end of odd little things. Sometimes I think about where it is I am going (In this case, I was heading to the hospital to get a 3-hour infusion of Remicade); sometimes I think about where I've been (a handful of feet from the hotel where The Dick was speaking); sometimes I write haiku, and sometimes I just try to imagine the conversations happening all around me.
Today, I chose the latter and I thought about the two gray heads in the Buick ahead of me. I imagined the possible conversation this delightful, brake-happy couple was having, and I figure, it went something like this: