I've got a date today, and I can't be late, damnit.

So, I'm stuck in the heart of an LA traffic jam, with cars bumper to bumper and angry white men walking out of their cars and picking fights. Pitiful.

I whip out my cell phone and call my girlfriend.There is a dial tone. It is cut off by her voice.

"Hello?" she says.

"I don't think I can make it, there's some serious traffic over here." I reply.

"Well, I guess we're on the same boat then,"

"Wow, sounds like some kind of Chinese superstition crap"

"Probably, Jeff. Is there a fight happening over there?"

"Yeah,"

"Same here. Some army tool decided that he wanted to sermon a bunch of hippies. It's hilarious."

"From the looks of things, I don't think this date can pull through,"

"Probably. It's okay, we have a lot of time on our hands, I mean your job doesn't have awkward hours right?"

"Nope."

"See you later"

"You too."

The name Christie Hong flashes on the screen one last time, followed by a beep and the disappearance itself.

The sun's rays pierce through the thick windshield of my Bentley and force my eyes into a squint. The heat intensifies, as if there is some strange correlation between this one particular squabble occuring at my side.

There is an Asian man, worried out of his wits, deadeyed as this hulking behemoth of a black man argues with him. Apparently, he accidentally rear-ended the black man's car, which was a very posh looking Escalade. A prominent dent is on the rear bumper of the Escalade, with the pristine black pain on it interrupted by the noise formed by the dent. Scratch marks, crumpled metal, the works. There is an ocassional shove here and there, and it's obvious the black man is cursing, I mean his pride and joy was ruined. As the fight rages on, the sun increases its output by tenfold, with it culminating in the black pan pushing the Asian man down on the ground, with the heat making me fade in the confines of my car.

Fading away.

My soul washing out of this shell and flying on the other places.

Other places.