“If we don’t start moving soon,” I find myself thinking as my frustration simmers into overboil, “I swear to God I’m going to scream.”
I’m sitting in the middle of the I-580 freeway, which currently looks more like a big valet parking lot that just happens to be four traffic lanes wide. I’ve been on the road for over two hours, trying to go a distance that normally takes a third of that time. In the past 20 minutes, we’ve moved no more than 100 yards. And as I watch helplessly from a sea of cars in a canyon with no other exit or options, the sun is moving steadily lower and lower in the sky.
