Number One

I am the fastest man on the highway. Eighty, ninety, one-hundred miles per hour, I can do it all. Other drivers cheer me on with beeps and fists and raised fingers proclaiming, “Number One! Number One!” as I swerve past them. I do not use my turn signal, as the human mind could not perceive the meaning of the light in the brief moment they have to react to it. My Ford F-350 Raptor is as powerful as four thousand men and the size of Rhode Island. But I’m not going to Rhode Island, I’m taking my kid to his baseball game, and I’m the only one who wants to be there.