“Where do I go?” he asked his wife, who was too busy reading a book to give him directions. The husband reached the three-way intersection at the end of the long road which split off into two before them. He waited for his wife to answer left or right because he couldn’t very well continue forward into the barbed-wire and brush.
“You can get to the restaurant if you turn left,” she said, placing the book down.
From the left a motorcyclist was approaching, but—being hyper-focused on the unfamiliar road—the husband didn’t notice. Creeping the car forward, his wife had a miniature spasm attack of some sort.
“Watch out!—watch out!—watch out!” she shrieked, startling him into a stop. The motorcyclist slowed down and took a right, neglecting to signal his intention to make the turn.
“Oh be quiet, back seat driver!” the husband shouted and lurched the car forward to get out of the intersection. Huffing, his wife lifted her book to continue reading. Continue reading