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Day 3

I know, I know, Day 2 is still missing one last component but it’s better to work backwards.

Prompt: It’s a hot summer day. Where are you? What are you doing?


As far as summer’s go, it wasn’t the hottest thursday in the records book. Can’t call it no life altering scorcher either. No, what I was so lucky to be stuck in was a typical Long Island summer, high seventies. I think the car’s exterior temp said it was seventy eight or seventy nine. No way to know for sure without lifting my fingers from their comfortable position behind the headrest to push the little button that would only tell me a number. Do you have any idea how long it took to get comfortable in this sweat box?

High seventies is no big deal on a usual day. I can run a marathon in it, relax on a beach – Jone’s or Cedar – or hop a ferry over to Fire Island. All would be done with some friends of course. Can’t call this a summer vacation without some other bodies to liven things up. Except, I wasn’t doing any of those things, not today. Today traffic has claimed me and who knows how many others as its victim. Again, no big deal on a usual day. Traffic is traffic. Inevitable. Pointless as it is frustrating.

I do summer’s classes – overachiever of me, I know – but it helps save money in the long run. They’re only tuesday, thursday classes with one that’s online making it a grand fun total of three. It’s no huge load – it’s summer, even the professors don’t want to do that much work – so I get time to enjoy the vacation. Classes let out at the worst time though, two fifteen, which lands me in prime traffic territory. Some days it’s light and you can coax through a small patch of snails and then there are days when it’s bigger than that.

Needless to say, it’s not a usual day. Traffic has stolen an hour from my life, the sun has turned my hoopty into a sauna, and my air conditioner decided to go on what I’m guessing is as permanent break. In retrospect, is my punishment for getting an old lemon. Faulty parts tend to be the unspoken warning but hey, it was affordable and got me from point a to point b.

As I sat in that heat, I wished I saved the extra thousand and lucked out at some used dealership or tried the Craig’s List route. I knew a few positive stories of people who bought a car off that site. Worked out for them. I glanced over to my right to see the same sign marker. I was still at exit 27 and I had to make it to exit 32. There was no real time limit but I didn’t exactly want to be sweating and parked for another thirty minutes.

“There better be an accident,” I grumbled. I don’t want anybody injured or anything, just prefer a really good reason. The people around here get what I call Broken Neck Syndrome whenever they see cars off to the side of the road. They slow down and crane their necks to look over the scene like one of the movies where they do a slow mo and a car is creeping by. That’s how they like to do it here. Even after they pass, they’re still using their mirrors or hanging out their window. It’s ridiculous and only gets worse when it’s a big accident. People can’t function. You’d think they were all medical experts asking how can they help. Keep it moving is what I’d tell them. We got places to go.

Not me personally, but what’s a little white lie?