Rushing Rochester

         “Come on grandma, move it!” easily drowns out the sound of the radio while cruising down 490 in the middle of The Flower City anytime between 3:00 and 6:00 pm; as anyone from financial advisers to dishwashers scurry out of the concrete jungle on their race home.  Facial expressions flare as tempers from the “mile-a-minute” citizens force the shift into fifth gear.  Rush hour is like a shot of adrenaline injected directly into the racing heart of the urbanized metropolis. 

         Elbows rest on the door panel and foreheads are supported by a bent wrist due to impatience that has been transmitted like a plague.  Stop-and-go traffic sets the tone for the speedy musicians to blare their horns in a rather violent manor. The piercing lullaby is anything but soothing. Engines roar as brake lights illuminate the streets for what seems to be for an endless distance.  Embers scatter as cigarette butts bounce off the pavement while a butane-powered Bic lighter ignites another toxin filled stick.

         Paramedics and policeman work as a team to clean the blood and metal scraps from the highway as road flares become no less than blinding.  Fingers almost harmoniously tap on the steering wheel along with a long, drawn out sigh.  Children in the back seat with Happy Meals™ seem to be no less than content in their small, simple world.  Turning signals flash left and right as cars weave in between the “grandma” drivers that are taking their sweet time, as if they had any time to spare. 

         Windows roll down along with the heat control knobs as sweat begins to run down the faces of the outraged speed demons.  Brake pads squeal as smoke rises from the pavement carrying the vile scent of scorching rubber into the pollution coated sky.  Orange cones outline the narrow pathways causing heart racing tension as collisions are avoided only by inches.  Sirens echo off of the steal skyscrapers as an unsuspecting family learns of the tragedy from the nearby patrol officer.

         In a hurry?