Eastern Pennsylvania

An abnormally aggressive truck driver blazes across the country with his semitrailer.

The black sedan gaining on him in the left lane reminds him of a police car, and that ignites his adrenaline. Maybe that's why he matches at a speed which would make his brakes helpless, though his engine matches his anger with its growl, and though the road makes sweeping curves over steep precipices. Maybe. Or maybe he senses or fears that this sedan driver who hovered behind him for five miles is too indecisive, that he or she would pass him and then slow down, and that would delay his delivery.

It doesn't matter. He isn't one to analyze his decision-making process, so if we were to listen in on his interior monologue--which would make us brave indeed--we would hear little in the way of justification for his actions. He thinks much more about the driver of the sedan--a young woman, he notes as he catches a glimpse of her in his side mirror, driving a car full of young women--and that with such contempt that it would be inappropriate for us to listen too much.

Tuning into the audible sounds within the car is much safer for our sensibilities and also more instructive. As we might expect, we hear a CB radio with its usual chatter of bored or lonely truck drivers passing the time and sharing opinions about stops along the highway. But at far greater volume is the police scanner. Currently the dispatcher and first responders are discussing a minor house fire in eastern Pennsylvania. Our driver doesn't seem particularly interested in that, but he is listening for something.

The driver of the black sedan allows her speed to drop, preparing her to fall back into line where she belongs. Our trucker settles back into his seat with smug satisfaction. He tries to catch a glimpse of her expression in the rear camera, but from this angle there isn't much to see. He rubs his short white beard. Not everyone can pull off a gesture like that without looking like an intellectual, but with his thick earring and mustache, he is confident he can. While he basks in his glory, we notice his speed has dropped back down to the limit of 65 miles per hour.

But not for long. Soon a little FedEx van rumbles along in the left lane, and now his interior monologue is too loud for sensitive observers like us to ignore:

Oh no you don't!

The End

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