Late

Fred was running late, like he usually was. Today was different though: usually he would get clocked in at work under the wire, within the five minute grace period employees were allowed. This time though, the traffic was not in his favor; this was the third time this month; where he hit every red, for little eternities that would not yield when the light changed: he was stuck behind new drivers, and the elderly, and people from other states, who all drove like sap runs from a tree. Fred fretted that he would be fired, which he would be, if he didn’t make it there under the wire

When he crashed, it was a sickening thud that tore through the air, metal on metal, and the dull wet thump of Fred’s face into the steering wheel column. Fred, frantic at waiting, took a turn too quickly and careened into a light post. Fred’s life drained out of him and he would never, and always, be late again.

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