It was morning-time.
He was driving down the 405 freeway in Los Angeles, driving a constant 65 miles per hour. He was in his Toytoa Camry — a silver color. He was staring straight ahead with both hands on the wheel. He was wearing a grey sweater-vest and had on a pair of sunglasses. His eyes, of course, were covered by the glasses and so whether or not this man had a soul was anyone’s guess.
He reached down to change the radio station — whatever it was he was listening to had grown tiresome. Perhaps it was a commercial break on the Howard Stern Show? Those commercial breaks are often so long that it’s worth changing the channel. Of course, on this day specifically, the guy driving next to me in the Toyota Camry was feeling the boredom. He had to give himself that pick-me-up that he desperately needed.
What came over his car’s speakers startled him, causing the car to drop to a constant 63 miles per hour, putting himself directly next to another car on the freeway. He looked over, but since the glasses were still on, there was no way of telling who or what the man in the Toyota Camry was looking at. Perhaps he was just stretching his neck. People do that, you know. Even a guy in a Toyota Camry with all it’s technologically-advanced lumbar support stuff. Well, Mr. Toyota Camry (who will forever be referred to as MR. TYTCMRY in my close circles) was looking around for some odd reason.
Just what MR.TYTCMRY was thinking about was anyone’s guess. Perhaps MR. TYTCMRY was thinking about work. Or the fact that he was late to work. Or perhaps about that girl he impregnanted and then orchestrated a huge argument so that he would never have to pay child support. Or perhaps he was thinking about a bagel. A salt bagel. With cream cheese and lox. Mmmmmm. Of course, MR. TYTCMRY appeared to be a fit guy (from the window pane up). He could have had a huge ass that was concealed by the door-panel of the driver’s side door, but nonetheless, his thoughts of cream cheese turned to low-fat cream cheese which then turned to no cream-cheese at all. For MR. TYTCMRY thought to himself (at least, some would suspect) that if he couldn’t have the real deal, he wasn’t going to settle for a sub-par kind of cream cheese. Then again, not knowing anything about MR. TYTCMRY at all, he might have just been waiting for a moment when someone (ME) wasn’t adjusting their speed so that both cars were neck-in-neck, so he could stick his finger in his nose and pick the damn thing.
MR. TYTCMRY had been caught doing that on the road in the past, and didn’t want to repeat traumatic moments (if you know what I mean).
Suddenly, and without warning, MR. TYTCMRY adjusted his speed to a speedier 72 miles per hour and flipped on his right blinker. The action happened so quickly and with such coordination, that there was no reason it was an accident. For, in fact, an exit for Wilshire Boulevard was quickly approaching.
The Toyota Camry, known for it’s lumbar support and its limber wheels, quickly moved a lane away. And another. And another. Until the Toyota Camry was speeding off the 405 Freeway and off an exit. In seconds, the memory of MR. TYTCMRY was nothing but that — a memory.
In thinking back, as I often do, about the day Mr. TYTCMRY and his Toyota Camry made history on the freeway, a tear sometimes falls from my eye. For, where he is today and what he’s doing, and if he ever got a hold of some real good cream cheese are some of the huge questions that plague my thoughts. Would he ever decide to step up and be a role model for his father-less child? Would he be late for work? Would he ever find his soul?
The questions, my friends, are numerous.