Sylvia is heavy on the pedal this morning. An argument with Ted ran overtime and when she should be mentally prepping herself for another dumbass meeting with inspirational music on the car cd player and fantasies of George Clooney, she's copyediting her side of the fight instead.

It sure won't do to walk in ten minutes late and this morning, with the fifteen minute delay less the five she allows herself for arriving early, Sylvia still has ten minutes to make up in the next thirty minute ride.

Her nerves are shorted out; sputtering flecks of rain-wetted sparklers on the Fifth of July. Every now and then a car passes fast on her right and she jumps with an almost ineffective ten-degree pull of the steering wheel.

Even as screamingly alert as she appears to be, she is still unprepared.