Driving down the freeway, it is raining.
The car stereo plays an album from the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet.
Traffic plays outside where the guitars do not sound.
A break in the traffic presents itself.
The rain beats down harder.
I switch off the windshield wipers, which were going back and forth every eight seconds.
I think of rolling down the windows; and speed up.
As I imagine the water drilling itself into the left side of my face, it pools vertically on my windshield, and I see, for a moment, a rainbow that is not there.
Traffic has built up again along with the water outside my car.
My car? I own it! I imagine rolling up the window.
I imagine straightening my tie.
I imagine slicking back my hair.
I stop, and present a grimacing smile to the brake-lights in front of me.
There you are, at last.