Road Rage

As I’m travelling down the main road, another car starts to tailgate me. I take my foot off the accelerator for five seconds which slows the vehicle momentarily. My driving instructor taught me that this is usually enough for idiots to get the message and drop back. However, this person has decided that the wisest course of action is to overtake me. I am thoroughly dissatisfied with their actions, so I choose to follow them.

They pull into the McDonald’s car park, and I exit my car with it still running.
“What kind of move was that?!” I yell.
The driver is a young man who I estimate to be in his early thirties. He’s wearing blue jeans and a graphic tee. His hair is fluffed up at the front, forming a little peak.
“Well, you shouldn’t have been going so slow.”
“I was doing the speed limit, dick!”
He laughs at me and reaches into his car for something.
“You could cause an accident doing that!”
He turns to face me with a grin on his face.
“I was in a rush, you see. I have to attend a funeral today.”
I am too enraged to give any sympathy.
“Oh, that’s such a terrible shame!” I mock.
There is a sudden change in his composure, and he throws his keys back inside the car. He slams the door shut and makes a move towards me, causing me to step back.
“Go on then! Hit me!”
He holds his hands up in surrender.
“I didn’t touch you.”
“You were going to, though.”
He takes a photograph of me. I retaliate by doing the same to him.
“I will ruin your life. I will make sure that you never have a job in this town ever again. That beautiful car will be heading straight for the scrapyard.”
“You’ve got psychological problems, pal.”
People are now beeping as my car is in the way. After parking up, I watch him stroll into McDonald’s with arrogance. I wonder what he’ll do with the photograph. Will he post it online and publicly shame me? From his behaviour, I am likely to conclude that he has bodies hidden underneath his patio. I am craving McDonald’s myself, but I don’t want to face him again. I suppose if I do bump into him, he’ll be too busy to say anything. I hear a knocking at my window. It’s the security of the area.
“Hi there, we’ve had reports of a woman fitting your description shouting.”
“Oh, it was a silly argument. The guy is in McDonald’s now. It’s all fine.”
“Well, we’ve only had reports about you. They seemed to think that you were arguing with the air.”
I look to where the man’s car had been parked to see it empty except for a picture.
“There is a picture in that space over there. Will you bring it to me?”
The man obliges, albeit with a confused expression. He hands it to me through the tiny crack in my window.
“Hm, I’m not sure what to make of it.”
The photograph is of the driver, but you can only see half of his face. Behind him is a woman who looks like me, but it’s not me. She is tied up with a red ribbon. Beside her is a brown paper bag with a burger resting on top. A McDonald’s burger.

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