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We in traffic are demented ballerinas, pointing our toes: gas clutch brake, stop, start, go again. I feel a certian camraderie with my fellow commuters. They slow down to let me in sometimes, and I do the same. In traffic are countless opportunities to make someone's day a little better or a lot worse. My car coughs politely and purrs, just to let me know it's still there. I cough back. Steadily we inch over the bridge, I'm turning up my music, all of us stuck in the same boat. Over the lake we all go together.
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