Driving: A Reflection of Home

I’m driving. Always driving, spending countless wasted hours staring at the back of someone’s bumper.  Red light, no light, shift, clutch, stop.  I always question why I bought a standard when I’m sitting in LA traffic, leg sore and mind tired. Driving here is frustration in its purest form.  It’s the seven lanes of standstill traffic, where the exhaust pipes of oversized SUVs pour a steady fog of thick, potent-smelling petrol into the already tinged-brown atmosphere. It's the drivers that…