Through the Catskills into the Poconos, all the way to friends on occupied Piscataway land.

What if driving is a party and some people suck at dancing? You’re gonna roll your eyes at the idiots in the club, so why not on the road. Tailgating is hilarious to me. It makes me anxious, for sure, but it doesn’t hasten me the way the other driver surely hopes. Driving culture out west is so much more chill. There’s turnouts everywhere—I will let folks pass me all day. Today I saw this little sporty thing stuck behind a big rig. It was dancing from one side to the other in their lane, real close up behind the truck. I guess they were making sure the trucks driver was aware of the anxious vehicle behind them: “Scoot over, get seen in the left mirror again!” What is the truck driver gonna do? Fuck that little car. Nobody cares, dude.

I was eating peanut butter breakfast in my car at 10AM when a dog in the old sedan parked next to me noticed. It leaned its squishy pink nose against the window that had been cracked enough to deliver the scent, and stared at me. It was a big doggy, something broad and beefy with a face that could go from cuddly to pugnacious in a fraction of a second. It seemed to be sharing the back seat with a small human. I could see feet sticking up from somebody laying down on their stomach. The feet wiggled around, occasionally tapping the window. The dog continued to beg as I chewed my sticky bread.

In the midst of this wholesome scene, somebody blasting Fleetwood Mac came along to occupy the space opposite my neighbors. The driver rolled up and parked, then got out to check. He then launched into some loud grumbles about “what the fuck parking”, gesturing angrily at something invisible from my vantage point. His bodily indignation reminded me of Elmer Fudd, or Danny Devito. “Did you even SEE the LINE?” he berated the rear bumper of a car occupied solely by a dog and a child. Beside them, my window was wide open. I wondered if this man was aware of his audience of three, none of whom had much stake in his battle. The dog alone could have won it for our side. Having released his full volley of insults toward an impressively harmless parking job, this frustrated individual strode back to Stevie Nicks still crooning. He proceeded then to pull his SUV right up to the sedan, within inches. I don’t think even he knew whether he would bump it—he certainly could’ve done some damage to the offending vehicle. Our villain didn’t choose recklessness though, and when the engine cut off I think we all expected the dude to finally go about his business. Certainly nobody drives to a parking lot just to argue with parked cars. This man stalked off only about ten feet before he thought better of it, and turned back toward the scene that had so upset him with a finger raised. All three of us were watching with varied expressions of curiosity as this lunatic began stomping toward our cars one last time… then faltered. As if finally realizing how much nothing he had achieved for all his fury, all in front of an apathetic audience, our party pooper, fueled by unspent rage, finally exited the scene.

Sometime during the drama, the kid had sat up and I had put my breakfast down. Now the dog again took notice of the wafting peanut butter as I finished eating, and the child returned to its backseat relaxation.

Nobody cares, dude.