I love driving.
I counted down the days to my seventeenth birthday, when I could finally get my licence. I would no longer need to rely on the goodwill of others to go to parties and on adventures.*
* These ‘adventures’ often consisted of me and my friends all putting on Hawaiian shirts (no, there was no reason, before you ask) and flipping a coin at each junction to decide which way to go. Wild and crazy youth, right?
On one particular day, about ten years ago, I was driving along in an excellent mood.
The weather was beautiful, it was nearly my birthday, and a girl I liked had just agreed to go out later in the week for a drink.
I expect I was singing loudly and embarrassingly to some terrible song when I hit a traffic jam.
At first, I didn’t think anything of it.