Street

The red bulbs flashed to life, indicating that the brake had been depressed. The car squealed, likely due to wet brake pads, and rolled to a stop. The driver swept his weary eyes left, then right, and then back again. It was a four-way stop and there were no other cars in sight.

With a sigh of exhaustion, he slowly let go of the brake and let the car slowly progressed through the intersection. He knew there was no need to hurry. Why hurry home? There was no one there. No need for him to rush into another lonely room. It made more sense for him to take his time. It was a greater distraction to drive alone then to sit in silence.

As he passed by each street, he felt the weight of the memories each name brought him. 3rd Street: his third place ribbon that had disappointed his coach. 2nd Street: having been an only child, he oddly found himself second his parents’ affections. 1st Street: blank. He was never 1st at anything.

A set of traffic lights met him at Main Street. It was here that his mind raced.

What was the main point of his life?

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