The Mornings Madness by Jack Farquharson

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SUMMARY: An ode to traffic jams!

Billy sat in the car, idly flicking between radio stations, looking for something to take is mind off the fact that he hadn't moved in the last ten minutes. He was used to this; traffic jams at 7.45 in the morning were not exactly news in this city. He was only half listening to the radio, as a broken train of various DJ's voices flashed by, all apparently clones of each other, speaking in that false ‘radio voice' that they all managed to obtain. "Did Irish DJ's not used to sound Irish at one point in time?" he though to himself.
As he was flicking, he wondered to himself whether they were all required to go to radio school, where their larynx was promptly removed, to be replaced with a sophisticated sequence of microphones which were only able to speak with the same irritating drone. He laughed to himself, slightly bitterly, at the thought, knowing it to be unfair. He was just in foul mood that morning, and radio stations that he normally happily listened to were grating on his nerves for some reason. It was probably just the hangover he was feeling as a result of the five or six pints that he had sunk the night before. Those pints along with sharing a couple of joints with Tony had left him with that ‘ashtray mouth' sensation, and a head full of sawdust.
He settled for the first station which was actually playing music, paying no attention to the song at all, bar noting tiredly that it was a woman singing and that it sounded bland enough. He leaned forward with both arms resting on the steering wheel and laid his chin on his forearm, staring blankly ahead at the rear window of the car in front. He was working his way around his companions in this static snake of metal, rubber and human flesh and already knew that the car to his left contained a middle aged business man, wearing a white shirt with one of those Disney character ties which he hated so much. The man seemed content enough to be sitting there, and seemed to be currently in the process of trying desperately to remove a portion of his brain through his nose. Billy reckoned that if the finger went up any further, it was sure to get stuck. At least that would provide some welcome distraction, though currently he felt slightly nauseated every time he glanced left and so had given up on it.
Behind him, the couple were still arguing. They both had that slightly frazzled look that seems to strike those who are suffering from sleep deprivation caused by the erratic sleeping habits of small children. He had been able to make out the two child seats in the back of the car, and had guessed that the kids were about one and half and three. Both were currently sleeping, a situation he found bizarre considering the row that was going on in the front. He envied kids that ability. They could stay awake for hours when they shouldn't, driving their parents crazy, and then when ready, they could sleep through the noise as the normally patient adults lost it and started bickering over the smallest stupid detail.
Sleep was actually not a bad idea, he thought to himself.

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