Are You Pressure-sensitive?

In the morning recently, at seven twenty-five, I put my suitcase into a rental car outside the motel and started driving toward the airport on a business trip to another city. The girl at the checkout counter said it would take thirty-five to forty-five minutes to make the airport. The flight would leave at quarter past eight.

It was raining heavily, but I made good time for a while. Traffic was moving freely on the expressway. It gradually slowed up, however, and finally got to a slow crawl; then a dead stop.

A crawl, a stop! It was bumper to bumper now in the three lanes. Now and then openings would appear, and scrambling cars switched lanes to fill them. It was nearing seven fifty. The obstruction was a multilevel overpass construction job. Solid, nearly stalled traffic loomed ahead for as far as I could see.

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Our Pleasant Place
March 31, 1973
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