What a stupid idea he’d had. But once he’d had it, he couldn’t get rid of it. He’d get out of bed in the morning: there it was. It stayed with him in the shower and while he brushed his teeth and dressed, after.

Was it really that stupid? Yes. Yes, it was exactly that stupid.

He’d put it out of his mind while he drank a quick cup of instant coffee in the kitchen and shoved a cinnamon Pop Tart into his mouth. The stupid idea would stay away for a little while, but whenever he was caught by the long light at the corner of Turner and 32nd – which seemed to happen four days of five – he’d start thinking about it again while staring at the cross-light, waiting for it to turn yellow so he could ease up on the clutch in anticipation of the green light in his own lane.

At work he might be distracted from the stupid idea for a little while. But then he started spending his lunches researching it.

It was like a cancer, corrupting all the smart ideas he used to have and turning them into engines of destruction.