Rainy Day.

I feel kinda bad for all you suckas with anit-lock brakes out there. You don't know the fear, exhilaration and elation of trying to stop for a yellow light in the rain. You're trying to make it green, but despite your best efforts that amber hue blinks on, your foot eases off the gas and your brain makes a quick consultation.

"We're at the point of no return,
you'd better make a decision."

"Hmm, well I'd like to make the light,
but I don't like running red lights.
I guess I'd better stop."

"But now we're past the point of no return!"

"Well we can't go for it, we stopped accelerating."

"But look how close the light is!"

"Well maybe if you wouldn't say 'point of no return'
in full every time we'd have decided in time."

And you slam on the brakes. Well, as hard as you dare slam, cause you'll go flying right through that intersection if you start to skid.

Here's where the fear starts. Humans are amazingly good at calculus. You may not know this, but you're constantly observing rates and changing velocities, predicting the outcome. Well, you might suck at it, but I come out money a lot of the time. Lets give up the facade, this story is about me; no more 'you's. So I'm observing my deceleration and plotting my stopping location. And its not soon enough. I'm slowing down as fast as I can, playing the brake by milimeters, trying to get as much slowing power as I can out of my paper thin tires. Gotta... squeeze... a little... more...

Easy... Easy... Yeah, a little more. And the slower the car goes the easier it is to find the very edge of traction. Here's where the exhilaration kicks it up. Still not in good shape, but the odds are on making it now. Paying less attention to the pedal, there's a heart beating a little harder than normal. Oh yeah, that's adrenaline baby. And now that I'm not in immutable peril any more I can start to enjoy it.

You know what? I've got a couple feet to spare. Hot damn, I'm a badass. I'm the cheese. I'm an effing driver. The home-brew drugs are wearing off as I coast up to the line. After half a minute I'm joined by stragglers in their Volvos and BMWs. They don't have broad smiles of accomplishment slathered all over their faces. They've still got that hypnotized moron, staring at the carrot, commuter glaze. Yep, you're definitely missing out.