She will think I arrived five minutes late and never appreciate the accomplishment of reaching Woodinville twenty minutes after launching onto I-5 in downtown Seattle, right behind the fucker in the Jeep Cherokee who wouldn’t let me in. Later on the onramp to 520, I saw him in my rearview, signaling to pass me, so I passed, too. And when he was trapped in my wake I yelled, "AHA HAA ASSHOLE, I beat you!"

What does he care. He’s probably some doctor, businessman, middle-aged yuppie.

But me, I just feel alive like that. Again and again. Aren’t you tired of it? I’m tired hearing myself repeat.

I think if I could apply the same focus, initiative, and elegance to other pursuits as I do to driving, things would go a whole lot easier. They might be more exciting.

Somehow, it seems the key to everything is in the way I am then.

Last night at the reading I saw the Perfect Moment. He saw me, too. We were both out of context and looked twice.