Pedal to the Metal

I live in a section of the city where the streets are set up in a perpendicular grid. On average, the blocks running east-west are about 300 feet long, while those running north-south are about 500 feet long. So either way, the blocks are relatively short.

Also, at each intersection there are either four way stop signs or, for the busier intersections, traffic lights. Thus, for the most part, drivers need to come to a stop every 300 feet when traveling east or west and every 500 feet when traveling north or south.

Additionally, most of the area is residential, with only a few of the major east-west streets being mixed commercial and residential.

So why am I telling you this? I’m hoping that someone out there can explain something to me that I find very perplexing.

Why, when drivers know that every 300 to 500 feet, they will need to come to a full stop, would some of them — a lot of them, actually — stomp on the gas and peel away from a stop sign only to have to slam on the brakes just a few hundred feet down the road at the next intersection?

Why would anyone, particularly with the price of a gallon of gas being what it is (which, where I live, is about $3.35), do that? Do these idiots have money to burn? Is that why they burn rubber?

Torn Between Two Lovers

“So,” Jack said to his roommate, “as that old song goes, ‘say yes to one and let the other one ride,’ Dude.”

“I dunno what to do, man,” Michael responded. “I’m really torn. Betsy is so nice and sweet. And she’s really smart, too.”

“True dat, Bro,” Jack said.

“But Sally! Oh my God is she hot. I get a woody just thinking about her.” Michael got a faraway look in his eyes as he thought about Sally.

“Listen up, Dude,” Jack said, “it’s just a New Year’s Eve date. If you want to get laid, take Sally. If you want to spend New Year’s Eve with the future mother of your children, go with Betsy.”

Michael took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. But I’m still torn. I just don’t know what to do. I wish I could take them both.”

“That’d be awesome, Dude,” said Jack. “Do you think they’d be good with a ménage à troi?”

“Sally probably would, but Betsy? No way.”

“Well, Dude, you need to make up your mind, then,” said Jack. “Either that or move to Utah or someplace where bigamy is legal.”

“No,” Michael said, “I am going with Betsy. She’s the right choice.”

“Cool,” said Jack. “So you won’t mind, then, if I ask Sally, right? She’s really hot.”

Michael glared at Jack. “You’re an ass.”


Written for today’s one-word prompt, “torn.”

Friday Fictioneers — The Hoarder

img_0290“We knew she was a hoarder,” Andrew said.

“I know,” admitted Andrew’s sister, Andrea. “But what’s with all these knit caps? Did you know she collected them?”

“Not a clue,” said Andrew. “And why so many nearly identical ones?”

“Mom lost it after Dad died,” Andrea said. “Cognitively speaking.”

“There are a couple of hundred here,” Andrew estimated.

“We should donate them to Goodwill.”

“No!” protested Andrew. “We should sell them at the holiday ice skating rink downtown. We could probably get around fifteen bucks each.”

“Okay, fine,” said Andrea. “It’s probably the only inheritance we’ll get from Mom, anyway.”

(100 words)


Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Photo credit: Björn Rudberg.