Timeout 1

My commute to work involves driving around and through parts of Griffith Park. It’s our version of Central Park, but not quite as shady or chaotic, and much more hilly. Actually, they’re very different. Except for the fact that they are both a bit of green in a sometimes gray landscape. 

I was a bit late this day and to my dismay, there was a traffic stop in the middle of the park. I wasn’t too bothered by it, I’m sure the drivers weren’t holding up traffic by choice. Nevertheless, I was eager to get out of there, eager to get on with my day. But I couldn’t. I was stuck.

Maybe I got tired of waiting. Or maybe I exhausted myself with my imaginary day, my imaginary problems, and my subsequent imaginary decisions.

”All of a sudden, I can predict the future ?”

Whatever it was; I edged to the side of the road, walked to the nearest park bench, and waited for it to decongest. It probably took all of 10 minutes.

I must’ve looked like a psychopath.