Further West

Otto sat in his car, the streetlight red, swinging from a wire suspended over an intersection, its very presence suggesting its impermanence. Otto gazed out onto the landscape below, two lines of cars crept toward the setting sun, their polished shells shone an oblivious white. How contrived the whole thing seemed; the fountains in front of grocery stores; the cylindrical perfection of the corporate headquarters to the largest cheese producer in the country; and above it all rose a golf course draped over a landfill.
The light turned green. Otto did not move. He didn’t see the need, the cars ahead of him were still jutting into the intersection. The radio blared an ad for a revolutionary spot remover, he checked the mirror to see how the driver (person would be too personal) behind him was dealing with Otto’s inaction. The driver appeared calm, a practiced smile streaked across her face, she too checked her mirror, at what it is uncertain. Kids? Vanity? Drivers? Otto returned his gaze out the front window, the light turned yellow and he waited.