US-15 exit 108, Durham
"OK, here it comes. Mirrors aligned? Check. Wipers on? Check. Goggles? Check. Helmet? Che—wait, where's my helmet? No time. At sixty-five miles per hour, only seconds to gauge the whims of other entering and exiting cars. Don't like the looks of this Ford Fiesta. Who picks puce? Someone shifty. Better move. Signal, ease over—Jesus, where did this Beemer come from? Headlights, man! Swerve back, almost clip the Fiesta, which has irrationally slowed to fifteen. Exit about to slide by, jerk over, and pray no more traffic enters the fray. Who the hell thought up weaving lanes, Möbius and Poe? Stupid daily battle for survival just to get to wor—oh my God, truck! Truck! HONNNNNNK!"