On Commuting

When I’m commuting, I pretend that every other car – including mine – has a cake in their passenger seat.

Then I’m never stressed.

You figure jerks cars worry about whatever party that cake is for.

When I piss off other cars, I shrug cause I’m trying not to wreck my cake.

What does everyone cares way more about? Cake and parties? Or accidentally mangling the bod of some mother of two???

On Commuting

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