It’s raining. Not like a hard rain or anything. Parker makes his way downy the highway with determination and a degree of speed that might not be exactly legal. But he isn’t going alarmingly fast. He maneuvers his car–a rather stylish Dodge Viper–into the fast lane. It isn’t the latest model but he has it painted a sleek purple some shade in between light and dark. After successfully making his pass he get back into the right lane. He’s behind a Chrysler Pacifica with a collect of bumper and window stickers.

From this he deduces that the driver is probably a futebol mom or an unfortunate son who is stuck using the car. He knows that the dad is still in the picture, helping to raise three kids–a teen boy, a young girl, and a baby girl. They have a dog. Based on the bumper sticker in the left hand corner it’s a shih tzu. He likes shih tzus well enough, but prefers bigger dogs--maybe a pit or a huskie.

Parker turns the volume up. Lil Peep's U Said plays nearly at full blast. He knows that he's probably annoying other drivers with the overload of bass. But he can't help it, other than the rain, its a nice day. The warmth and the gloom almost matches the mood of the song. He rolls the window down. He's about to take the volume up another level but he doesn't quite get that far.

He reads the bumper sticker as he pumps his breaks; 'if you can read this, you're too close.'

The música seems to blare louder, mais vividly.

'If you can read this, you're too close.'

He tries pumping the breaks again but they won't engage. The o espaço between his víbora and the Pacifica closes.

'If you can read this you're too close.'

"Motherfuck! I know." He yells. He remembers the emergency break a little too late.

He catches a glimpse of the bumper sticker once mais before his fender comes to meet it.

'If you can read this, you're too close.'
He can read it alright. He can read it very clearly.