Traffic - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The traffic snaked up the hill, two lines of steel and tire, each capable of over two hundred kilometres per hour and each averaging about five in their stop-start fashion. Bathed in their own putrid fumes a hundred hands reached forwards in unison to turn their air-flow to internal circulation only. In each self contained world a radio told stories, sung or sold products to the citizens, some talked on cell phones or texted. In the upscale minivans the children gaped at movies barely noticing the scream of sirens from behind and the ambulance driving rapidly into the oncoming traffic which veered to the curb. It was just another day in the city. One person's misfortune became the inconvenience of the many in their hermetically sealed indifference.
It was gridlock. Every car had turned off it's engine, drivers wandered on the highway looking up and down for clues. Then came the sirens shooting up the service lane, police, fire and ambulance. A chopper flew low over head and began to land a mile further up, that's when folks settled back in their cars for a long wait.
We stopped the van at the drug-store and waited. Vinny asked our mark the time and Stephan walked up behind him to shove him in, easy peasy. I put the gag in and Alice administered the sedative. We crawled along in the traffic. Red light, green light, red light, green light - like some damn kid's game. Then we hit the highway and flew down it but only ten kilometres an hour over the limit, getting stopped just wouldn't be a great idea right now. Sometimes we'd get thrown to one side as the van dodged some sparse civilian vehicles, but otherwise the road was ours. Then it was off the slip road and around the country lanes to the drop zone. Easier than delivering pizza and far better compensation.
Wavy lines rose from the scortched drab cement that lay out countless miles ahead, a ribbon stretched out along the cracked earth, held in place by the weight of the metal behemoths that slowly trudged along it. Varied colored cocoons filled with people whose frustration with the pace simmered like the air outside, kept in check by the frosty breeze flowing from the vents.
Leona had stopped commenting on the traffic. When they first moved to the city she would gawp at the lines of cars and wonder out loud how anyone got anywhere. In the night when there was room to move they drove too fast, never slowed for the rain or ice and jumped the lights. But with few public transport options she was wedded to her car, for better or worse. The driving didn't make her tense anymore, but she had learnt to always leave ample time for even the most local trips.
Traffic wound it's way down the road like a great angry snake, tires hissing over the wet road.
The traffic was stop-start, cars were hopping down the road like hog-tied frogs toward yet another set of springtime roadworks.
A procession of headlights on the highway, tail lights snaking their way down the road and over the brow of a hill, cars bumper to bumper, exhaust fumes belching out, blurred headlights through the driving rain, traffic at a stand still, traffic jam, traffic nose to tail right down the high street, the highway became a giant parking lot.
If the right to breathe clean air and grow vegetables not covered in pollutants is higher than the right to drive a car, then we have a powerful path to victory. Our rights to ongoing and sustainable living all over our planet must trump the so-called rights of others to make money or have convenience where the result is an obvious threat to the ecological life-support systems we all share. It's time to be real grown ups about this and find the will to put the future of our children above our own desires and wants.