They're not big or epic stories. My road stories are small and commute-ish.
This week one story arose from the man in the car behind me. I am not sure what faux pas he perceived I committed when he was following me around a left turn. Perhaps I was too slow to turn upon the blinking left-turn arrow. Perhaps I accidentally shifted lanes while turning to his prejudice. I will never know.
I do know that he honked and tail-gated and then passed me at the turn. Then he raised his middle finger with his hand outside his window. I noted his license plate number and car model, in case he engaged in more erratic behavior. Fortunately, he merely drove on--and so did I. I have no wish to interact with road-rage-y guys.
Then there was the art car, painted a bit like Van Gogh's "Starry Nights". It had been in a fender-bender, and stood, artistically inclined, by the roadside. I wondered how long its dented beauty would be immobile.
Tomorrow I must decide whether to drive or walk or ride my bicycle. But right now I am watching a biography of Julia Child. This evening I saw my 60th species of Collin County bird. Species 60 for this year was the Field Sparrow.
3 soft chicken tacos
chicken enchiladas verde
from Dreamwidth, because two posts of the same text are twice as nice