As I struggled to merge into the exit lane, a silver car refused to give me space, but a little red sports car spotted my predicament and let me in. On the off-ramp, I watched the silver car dart in and out of lanes, missing side mirrors by a breath, surely causing someone to spill their coffee into their lap. Drawing to stop at the next light, I noticed the silver car two spaces ahead. I’m a pretty mild-mannered driver, so the words I uttered uselessly toward the silver car represent the height of my road rage, “You are not a nice person!”
But maybe they are?