Personal Narrative-Vehicular Maze On The Brooklyn Bridge

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Regardless what car one owns, once you’re stuck in traffic, not even a luxurious supercar could pass through such misfortune. During such pile-up, a Lamborghini would be going at a whooping speed of 5 miles an hour and at its side, a 1990 Toyota Corolla zooms by at ten miles an hour just to stop a few feet away. Traffic makes driving, an exciting task into a mundane and excoriating painful routine. Discussing your experience being in traffic is even worse than being in traffic. Yes, telling your encounter inside the vehicular maze on the Brooklyn Bridge will improve your storytelling skills. Yet, saying there was traffic on your way home is enough. Despite of what I just written, this story is a traffic story. Nevertheless, this isn't a typical …show more content…

We’re about to kick back, relax, and enjoy ourselves some Colombian food with ice-cold beers. I was prepared to chow down and drink myself a bottle of Tecate (a Mexican beer) then unexpectedly Jeremiah’s phone rang and he answered.
“What’s up Vicky? What can I do for you?” Jeremiah asked. Vicky was one out of three in my inner circle of friends. I couldn’t hear what she said so I went to the fridge to see if there was any Tabasco sauce to place on my yellow rice. When I returned to the kitchen table, the conversation between Vicky and Jeremiah ended. “Tell me, how’s Vicky?” I asked.
“She’s doing great, she is hanging with her boyfriend. ” Jeremiah replied.
“Where is she?” I mumbled with a mouthful of …show more content…

Right before we entered the highway, the most interesting car stopped alongside us. It was a Ferrari. Not sure which type of model of Ferrari was it, but all I know is there was a red Ferrari right next to me. The three passengers in the Honda Accord stared at me, wanting me to do something insane. I had an idea of what they are going to say next. Normally, I wouldn’t do what I was about to do next, because it was a stupid idea. In the heat of the moment, once the light turn green, I pressed the gas pedal down the floor and whatever happens next, let it happen. The Ferrari indulged in our gesture and accelerated as well. Everybody in our car was hollering and cheering me on. For a good five seconds, I was ahead, passing cars like a pro. The sixth second I saw a bright red car right in front of me, jetting through any vehicle that was in his way. I was in second place, an estimated 200 feet away from the Ferrari; I looked at Jeremiah, shrugged, and started to decelerate the car. I looked in the rearview mirror and excited faces transforming to serious faced. I exclaimed, “It was a Ferrari! From the beginning, we were screwed.” Everybody in the car went back in having a conversation, while I focused on the road. We came back on the Van Wyck Expressway, two miles away from our exit, and then started the traffic. Unbelievable, everything was fine till now. Slowly, inch-by-inch, we drove a turtle

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