The Glass half-full

It was one of those days. Weeks, actually. Nothing had gone right. Veronica left me a message that she was uhappy and leaving me. Not 5 minutes ago. I raced out of the office to head her off and talk to her. I sped out of the parking garage and up the road, leaving all of my senses at work. I had the sunroof open, as my A/C was long dead, and the windows down as Shakira serenaded me on the stereo.

There was a popping sound, almost like a gunshot, and then smoke from the engine of my car. Then fire. This can’t be good. Halfway across the bridge, I looked for a place to pull over. None in sight. I moved to the far right and off onto the embankment, the engine now in flames. I screeched to a halt, got out of the car, leaving everything in it, save for myself, and ran. 200 yards. 250. Then, boom! The car blew up. I stood and stared incredulously. Could this really be happening? What could possibly be worse, I thought to myself.

As I turned from the car, I saw Veronica drive by.

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