A few days ago I was tired and told myself to just relax and drive home. This started out fine too. I must have been 8th in a string of slow moving cars. When I got to the first real turn on the way home I had but one car before me. It was that type of car, that I hate most. Suddenly my fatigue seemed to turn to "hey pull over".
In what has become a carbon copy of past stories, I waited and passed the car where I always pass cars (the only safe place really), and then flew home from here.
Oddly, my mentality in the moment was that of being chased. If I was, they never caught me. I felt this still as I pulled into the garage. It added a weird element.
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