at a four way stop an angry face aggresses into a parking spot. his vector surgically perpendicular to me, his face turned purple. the gaze locked. his hands splayed upwards. the eyes widened and hard as stone. funny that we normally see cars, not the person inside. except right now. the soul of machine is on fire. his mouth mimes, 'what the eff ya going to do?' then he smiles at his kid in the backseat. It's Christmas somewhere. Not here.