A Revelation on Traffic

I’ve always marveled at the magic of New York City traffic. It’s mysterious, unexplainable, and infuriating.

I should know. I spend at least 2-3 hours each day in the thick of it.

Every time I try to shed light on its secrets, a new twist emerges. When I least expect it – wide open highway. At 2am on a Tuesday – bumper to bumper gridlock.

Traffic knows not reason nor logic. Traffic knows not what it does to me.

Traffic, why dost thou mock me? Why hath thou repeatedly bitch-slappethed me?

Something else I’ve consciously noticed just this week, but had subconsciously occurred to me long ago: Invariably, whenever it’s clear sailing most of the way home, and it looks like I’ll be back in record time, I hit the worst traffic I’ve ever seen. Sometimes an hour to travel the last 5 miles of my commute.

Fucking BQE.

But there’s really only one explanation. And it ties in directly with an upcoming event, on February 2nd of this year. No, I’m not referring to my friend Alex’s birthday, although I wish him the best for his big 3-4.

I’m referring to the season premiere of “Lost.” And it’s taken until now - the show’s final season - for me to piece the puzzle together.

It’s all about me. It’s all about traffic.

The Island won’t let me get home in less than one hour and twenty minutes.

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