Written for Muse On Monday where David
has asked us to write a story about being
stuck in traffic. Here’s my response.
3:47 PM. Thirteen minutes.
The GPS said six miles. It might as well have said six hundred. A wall of red brake lights stretched ahead, bleeding into the horizon like a wound that wouldn’t close.
Matt gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white. The duffel bag on the passenger seat …. $250,000 in used bills …. slid slightly as he lurched forward three feet, then stopped again.
His phone buzzed. He already knew who it was.
“Clock’s tickin’. Don’t be late, Matt.”
He said nothing. What was there to say?
A fender-bender up ahead. A man in shorts and flip flops was out of his vehicle, inspecting the bumper, hands on his hips, unhurried. Utterly, catastrophically unhurried.
Matt wanted to scream. He pressed the horn instead …. once, sharp, useless.
3:51 PM.
He thought about Nina. Her laugh. The way she dances with the vacuum cleaner. How she cries every time she watches “The Notebook”. How beautiful she is without even trying.
Was she sitting in the dark somewhere, hands bound, terrified and listening for his footsteps.
The traffic didn’t move.
3:54 PM.
He opened his door and grabbed the bag.
He’d make a run for it. For Nina.
NAR©2026
This is “The Heat Is On” by Glenn Frey
Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 