I was driving down the 210 Freeway the other day stuck in the state of unfettered joy that is Southern California rush hour traffic (don’t tell me you can’t relate). You know, the kind of traffic where texting while driving is probably legal; where you get the privilege of studying the nuances of any and all scratches, dents, or other blemishes in the cars around you; where your desire for listening to yet one more podcast about business, spiritual development, or anything else for that matter has died a slow and painful death; where all you want to do is move out to the prairie, learn a new dialect, and watch cows in the pasture.
And I don’t even like cows, which shows you how much I hate SoCal traffic.
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