The long road home

by Rachel Kendall

It took me an hour and a half to get home today, instead of the usual 20-30 minutes. There was shouting and swearing and honking of horns and cars trying to push in front and u-turn and block the road. But the sun was shining, the breeze was blowing through the open windows in my car, Lana del Rey was singing to me and all I could think was – I’m not involved in the accident that’s cause all this chaos. I’m not going to stress and shout and swear because I am alive. I am on my way home. I’m not the one lying on the floor or having to be cut from my car. I want to get home as much as the next person; I want to eat my tea and plonk myself down in front of the TV and avoid the news because it’s all shit and I’d had a shitty day at work. But thank god I wasn’t going to have the police come round to tell me someone I loved had been run over. Thank god I hadn’t knocked over a cyclist or injured a pedestrian. It’s everywhere, the chaos. One might almost be afraid to leave the house in the morning for fear of being obliterated.