It was a fat-tyred 4WD utility hard back, the sort of ute you’d expect a contractor to drive, except it was plastered with tacky stickers, and no genuine subby does that. It snailed down the Range at 30KmH, girl-like, braking every bend, the donkey driver sending bad karma, wandering double white lines again and again. It was less distressing than a burning irritation; my imagination, or have I mellowed some – a pedant doing penance paid in trailing time, a wisdom wasted as I beamed him potent pictures of my mental boot buried tersely in his ample arse; that thought at least replaced the other evil thoughts I fasted on. But I bought myself some charity and gave the dork his space, and he excelled himself, increased his snail-like pace and broke the Law by speeding through restricted zones besides the school. No doubt the man’s a fool who’ll suffer for his stupid act, though not today. He had his sway with indolence, he had his day of insolence; I’m proud I kept my peace and waited in the queue bemused to let good fortune favour me. Hell, I almost taste the flavour