really?

He stopped for a couple of tacos.  Cheap fast tacos.  He forgets the name of the place.  It's not one of the chains.  Has enough grease to kill a cat.  May even be made from a cat.  Tastes good regardless.

Driving and eating.  He's good at it.  At least he thinks so.  The honker didn't, but they were an idiot.  He drops a bit of his last taco.  He tries to root for it, but decides against it after running over the lane reflectors while his head's below the dash.  He wipes off his hands and throws all the paper stuffs left in the back seat.  He'll clean it out tomorrow.  

The radio's got something bad on, so he turns it off; rolls down the front windows.  Cold night.  It kicks him in the lungs a little.  He gives off a shiver and then accepts the cold.  His hair'll be funny when he stops but he should be able to fix it.  Doesn't matter much if he can't.

When he slows up at the lights he can hear the street noises.  All car noises.  His car doesn't sound great.  He ignores it.    He hear's all the parts of the cars that pass.  There's a smoker in front of him.

The tail lights are starting to mesmerize him so he starts opening his eyes wide, then blinking hard.  Shakes his head a little.  

Some guy with the annoying headlights behind him.  Blue and piercing.  He flips the mirror and frowns.  

He wishes he had another taco.