I have patience, but it's been pushed too far-
By old people and cell phone bitches-
Car's warming, sun shining, done did inventory of lifestyle-soundtrack son-
Drive to Brunswick, 40 minute mission equals mini-excursion-
Turnpike-style, flying 85, gliding 95-South style-
Flowing smoothly----Until----Scattered red tail-lights glowing-
No worries, no worries----
Shit----Traffic slowing----Oh-no, it's too early----
Evaluate----
Lights flashing - negative-
Car crashes - negative-
No flat tires, no semis smashed in the divider, no 88 Cutlasses on fire being put it out-
Re-evaluate----
Cadillac in the first lane next to me - affirmative-
Brake-happy barely pushing 43 - affirmative-
Living over 65, senior citizen-style, 5-strand combover fighting the sun's gleam - affirmative-
Attempting second lane switch-over fly cut-around-
Probability of success----100 percent-
But before I could push the ped to the met, and juice my m.p.h. up another 10, I spotted a slow-rider barricade up ahead,
Opportunity window is down to five secs-
Adversary slightly starting to veer off-
Almost knocked my goddamn side-view mirror off-
Trying to figure out what set this crazy-ass senior off-
Debris on the freeway - negative-
Potential pothole avoidance - negative-
Possible road-head engagement - negative-
Caressing the throttle - affirmative-
Trifocal coke-bottles - affirmative-
Head beginning to teeter-totter and it looks like he got his pinky jammed up his nostril - that explains it-
Wait a minute - What's he doing? - Why's he driving faster?
Just a minute ago I thought he's about to hit his flasher, pull over to the shoulder, and restock his system with Gimsar and Lipitor -
I guess he's just one of those peep me creepin' in the rear-view, last minute speed up bastards-
Fuck that ---- This ain't the end ----
I've spent way too much time trying to predict the outcome of this Super-Off Road, R.C. Pro Am, Rad-Racing, Pole Position that I intend to win,
And if grandpa wants to contend, I'm a switch to lane one again and ride his ass till he gives in-
To the right, a business suit - Hands on 10 and 2 like he's supposed to do -
Seems stable and composed and more importantly he doesn't have any of his fingers in his nose-
But he's periodically bowing, may be nodding off from a late meeting out of town and, he better not be dialing,
veering to the left from the right and, shit----
I spotted a cell phone bitch in mid-flight-
Forget my front, back, left, right, and blind-side-
Some non-driving fools attacked form all sides-
The bastards had me trapped in the buffer till I hit exit 9~