Seconds tick away as the sun rises to its apex. Eyes alert, they stretch their fingers awaiting the showdown....ever ready. Souless stares as the shadows wan. Left to right, the black sockets search...was that movement? The trigger hand flys in reaction to the sudden break in landscape. He slaps leather willing his iron weapon to life....and guns it through the intersection cutting off his opponent. So goes the Mexican standoff that is a Four Way Stop!...

I just wanted a cup of coffee and no, not from "Arbucks". I found myself stranded at the fabled four way stop. Joined at the hip with a 70's plus woman, an early 20's chick too cool for everyone and a zit faced teen boy having a panic attack. As I pulled up to the intersection the "chick" was first and yapping away on her cell. Zit boy was second, me third and then Grandma.

Chick was animated and yelling into her phone, not paying attention but inching up anyway. Zit boy looks at me wondering if Chick is going to make her move and then he starts to hyperventilate. "Damn it", he thinks to himself, this scenario wasn't in the drivers manual. Aaack! He reaches back for a bag and covers his head trying to control his breathing. Grandma just stares ahead like a cow chewing her cud, waiting for the action to unfold or a hearse, I'm not sure. The sun rises...tick tick tick. I wait.

What's this? I pick up movement to the left, not trigger movement, passenger movement. Holy shit, Grandma has a partner. A blue suited Old Guy, mad as a hornet. He gives Grandma a ration of shit, flailing his arms..is he trying to fly? Grandma's discipline holds, she is unmoved...or has she just built up a tolerance to the Old Bastard? Hey, maybe she is deaf. Who could know, she waits...tick tick tick.

Chick is now getting frustrated. She yells at Zit boy who cannot see her due to the bag on his head. She throws out her left arm pointing at him and screaming. I can almost read her lips.."Go you fucking creamtart"! Creamtart, what the hell is a Creamtart? Wait...she is saying it again...oh..."Fucking retard". That makes a lot more sense. Chick forgets Zit boy and returns to screaming at the phone. She waits...tick tick tick.

Suddenly, Zit boy removes his bag, a gleam in his eye. He looks left, then right. Holy shit, I think he is going to do it. Zit boy declares his intentions by inching. Chick picks up the movement and stops talking, she slowly moves the phone down, reaching for her stick shift. Old Bastard turns towards Grandma and points at the intersection, he is barking commands like a Pit Chief. Grandma is unmoved; she may actually be dead. My attention returns to Zit boy, that gaze in his eye. Distant, searching, a lack of focus. Chick could be right that boy may be retarded. What the hell was under that bag I wonder?

Damnit, fuck this shit, I start to move forward and like lightning, Zit boy slams his car into gear and blows through the intersection leaving us in the dust. We are beaten by youthful reflexes and found cohones.

Unified by the action, we all curse at Zit boy for not going in order. Grandma finally moves, rolling down her window giving Zit boy the finger and screaming at him with a venom most likely built up from years of listening to Old Bastard. "You Creamtarts have no respect", she yells. She turns to Old Bastard, "shut up Frank"! He disappears back into the shadow of the bitch seat. She guns across the intersection realizing that time is not on her side.

I try to be nice and wave Chick through the intersection; she ignores me and returns her attention towards the cell phone. I turn right and head for my coffee joint, hitting the brakes as Chick decided to go after all. She gives me the look..."Dumbass", she yells. "Fuck you Creamtart whore", I exclaim.
I have to stop drinking coffee.

-R

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