There is a road, or several really, that I pass on my daily commute. At certain times, the rules the rest of us peons follow whilst driving on these roads become obsolete. I watch as people run red lights at 40 mph+. I observe as drivers turn left from what I would have sworn was a straight only lane. I’ve experienced people doing U-turns only to then go straight on red. I was nearly t-boned during such an instance as I proceeded to turn left on a green light when traffic was clear. Silly me.
Audience is seated and conversation is humming. The lights dim and Mr. Swinebottom walks on stage eagerly, holding his script. He is greeted with loud, vigorous applause and whistles. He smiles and pauses mid-stage for a moment, basking in the glow of the flattery. He catches himself and ducks behind the podium, arranging his script. Taking out his glasses, he unfolds them and perches them precisely on the edge of his nose. Clearing his throat, he clicks on his reading light and begins speaking.
“Good evening, ladies and gentleman, and welcome to another Reginald Swinebottom presents. I am your narrator, Mr. Swinebottom himself. Let’s begin tonight’s story, shall we? It all takes place, one late afternoon, on a most trying commute home from work…”