Hazard Lights

We sat in the ice cream shop driveway waiting for a break in the traffic to make our way home. It was evening, not quite dark, so it wasn’t like rush hour traffic or anything, but there were plenty of other cars about.

A line of cars approached with a new Mercedes-Benz at the head of the line. It was sleek, glossy black with tinted windows. Its obsidian tires rolled almost silently down the asphalt toward us. Since daylight was dwindling, but was not yet gone, the sedan’s running lights were on, but not the full headlights. It led the other cars like the badass leader of gang of normals made cooler just by their boss’s presence. The Benz seemed to say, “You know your place. Stay behind me while I show you how this intersection is done.”

The Benz’s hazard lights were on.

“Why are his hazard lights on?” William asked beside me.

“Maybe his girlfriend turned them on and is seeing how long it takes him to notice,” I suggested.

“Maybe he’s stolen the car and it’s a silent alarm” William offered.

The Benz moved closer to us and to the intersection.

“Maybe it’s a very short, very fast funeral procession,” I proposed.

“Maybe the breaks are out and he isn’t going to be able to stop if the light turns red,” William theorized.

“Maybe the car is making a weird noise inside that we can’t hear and he’s afraid it’s going to blow up,” I put forward.

“Maybe he is hosting a slow rave on the front bumper of his car for squashed insects,” William hypothesized.

The car passed the driveway where we sat and drew closer to the intersection.

“Maybe he likes to listen to the ‘ding, ding’ of the turn signals but doesn’t want it to stop when he turns the wheel so far,” I guessed.

The light remained green as the Benz advanced on the intersection. We watched from behind as the three rear brake lights briefly illuminated.

The Benz split neatly down the middle lengthwise as the driver’s side turned left and the passenger side turned right, each half going its own separate way on two in-line tires, and the indictor lights shut off.

“Well, I guess that answers that!” I said to William, as we pulled out of the ice cream shop driveway and headed home.