DON'T TEXT AND DRIVE

4

"Have you seen my keys?" Alexa said as she made laps around the flat. She was lifting the cushions from the living room couch for the third time when Ron wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her neck gently and sucked on her earlobe, signaling that he was ready to mate.

"Oh no, honey, not now. I am late as it is."

But there was no arguing with him and she knew it. It was competition season, which meant training was brutal and frequent, and the juice was flowing freely in the locker room, turning Ron into a horny breeding bull. He was still sucking when he lifted his arm to the opposite ear, opened his palm and jingled a set of keys.

"You're such an ass!" She said half jokingly as she reached for the keys.

Ron took a step back. Alexa smirked, she liked what she saw as he was wearing nothing but an elephant thong. A classic piece of underwear with an elephant face on the front, including eyes, ears and of course - a trunk. 

She closed the gap between them and licked her forefinger, tapping Ron's chest, made a sizzling sound and quickly withdrew the finger. The elephant lifted the trunk a little happily. She pulled him closer. And this time it was her turn to hickey Ron's neck. She moved her tongue slowly down south, leaving a snail's trail. His eye rolled back so far that only the white of the eyeball was visible. Tongue still glued to the body, Alexa's gaze was fixed on Ron's hand. She prayed on the keys like a black panther ready to jump a deer in a Southeast Asian rainforest. Cautiously, her hand reached for the keys and thought, yes! almost there! you got it! And that millisecond of premature celebration broke the rhythm of her tongue and Ron caught up with her. He took a quick step back, and all the hungry panther could do was watch the deer quickly disappear into the undergrowth. With a devilish grin on his face, he dangled the keys, grabbed the elastic on his underwear and pulled it away from his body and released the keys. With a metallic clink, they landed safely in his briefs. He let go of the elastic, and winked at her, "Oh Oh."

Both looked at the ceiling, breathing heavily. Ron turned his head, smiled and rolled onto his side to get a better view. Alexa was still panting, tiny beads of sweat covering her forehead, her lips and breasts. She felt his stare and turned her head, smiled, and rolled onto her side too. As they lay nose to nose, she lifted her arm and stroked Ron's cheek. 

"I love you, baby." Her Fitbit went off and the screen announced, "Congratulations, you have reached your daily exercise goal." First it displayed a colorful 10K, followed by fireworks. She laughed and thought that must have been the foreplay, the up and down perpetual motion. And as the fireworks died down, the clock came back into view.

"Shit!" Alexa said, and jumped out of bed, "Shit, shit, shit."

Ron watched as she ran up and down the room gathering her things. He found it rather amusing how she dressed with no sense of efficiency. Where he brought stability to the relationship, she brought chaos - and he needed that chaos. Every meal weighed, every calorie counted. No cheat days, no alcohol and no less than ten hours sleep a night. It was all exercise, rest, eat - rinse and repeat. He knew that without her he would be a stuck up, all controlling, no fun guy.

"I'm so screwed!" There was a vibration in her voice - not much, but it was there. And Ron heard it. Only people who are truly in tune with their partner would hear it. The kind of in-tune that would carry a relationship safely through a global pandemic. Where people are forced to stay indoors for long periods of time, only allowed to leave their homes under special circumstances. Where people are forced to take a hard look at their life choices. And where their life choices will take a hard look at them.

The micro-vibrations in Alex's voice told Ron that she was nervous, on the verge of anxiety.

He rolled out of bed and asked when she was coming back tonight. She said if she still had a job - late, otherwise she would be back early. He walked her to the door and grabbed her arm, "I love you."

Irritated, she looked at him, "Yeah, yeah, yeah." She tried to pull her hand free, "I have to go Ronny, please..."

He still held her arm and gestured to his cheek with his free hand. She rolled her eyes, took a deep breath, exhaled and gave him a peck on the lips, "Good enough, can I go now?!"

"It will hold till tonight." He said and he let go of her arm.

"You really are something, Mr. H.R. Herrington," she said as she dashed down the long hallway that connected their apartment to the outside world. She adjusted her skirt and slipped into her second shoe, and before she reached the door, he called after her in a housewife's tone: "Love you, honey!"

She turned on her heels and leaned against the front door, pressing her back against it and raising her arms. Backlit by the bright light from outside, Ron only saw her silhouette and two middle fingers high above her head, "Love you too!"

5

The sun stood low that morning, when Franklin rolled in his semi-truck down A10. It was a beautiful summer morning, promising to become a gorgeous summer day then no cloud broke the clear blue sky. Big Frank adjusted the sun visor to shield his eyes from the piercing sun rays that obstructed his view. Ladybird was his pride and joy, and since he had long given up on women, he channeled all his love into the rig. The tractor was dipped in a lush red. A tribute to the lips of Grace Kelly, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren and Madonna - women who embodied the retro glam Franklin was so into. Atop this luscious ruby red was an airbrushed sixties pin-up girl. The girl lolled on an air ride bomb in her underwear and smiled shyly at you while biting her lower lip. The truck's headlights were modified with slanted, sharp lines to make it look evil - just like a person would squint their eyes in anger. But what made the whole thing truly diabolical were the chrome exhaust pipes that reached high above each side of the drivers cab, making the truck look like the Prince of Darkness himself.

That Franklin has completely given up on women is not entirely true. He gave in to the online dating craze and downloaded one of those dating apps a few weeks ago, and he has been pretty prolific at it. At least it gave him a chance to talk to women. Then, even in the age of equality and inclusion, a bald, short man with lots of body hair still got what short, bald men with lots of body hair always got - no game. I guess we are a long way from giving the no-money DeVitos the same opportunities as the Clooneys and Pits of this world.

That's why people get smart, and what they may lack in beauty, they make up for in street savvy. So Frank reinvented himself, remodeling not only his appearance but also his curriculum vitae. He elevated himself to business owner, adorned himself with a successful trucking enterprise, and rewarded himself with a big paycheck. And he used a refined method to get girls interested in him: He started with a funny and slightly provocative opener, which earned him a challenging response from the other side. To make them bite, he countered with a cool, witty line that showed distance. Then there would be a few hours, sometimes a day, of radio silence to let them simmer. He would break the silence with an apology that he was tied up with important business, and finish her off by saying how beautiful she looked in her profile pictures. Unfortunately, when the girls wanted to meet him, he had to travel to another important client, thereby saving him and the girls the meet-and-disappoint. But that was all he needed. When all was said and done, Franklin retreated to the sleeper section of his truck, scrolled through the picture wall of the girl he had just reeled in, and - wanked his brains out. And right now he was laying the foundation for this evening's wrestling session with the (h)andaconda. A volatile moment in the conversation that needed his full attention. He thought carefully and looked around for clues. He looked in the side mirror and saw the trailer and the steel beams it was carrying. A devilish smile formed on his lips as he texted that he was expecting a delivery of steel beams and that they would not be the hardest struts on the lot tonight. Given, it was not one of his best lines, but what the hell, Lionell Messi has only a 10:1 goal ratio and is still considered one of the greatest soccer players of our time. Pleased with himself, Franklin was unaware that he was slowly steering the truck into oncoming traffic.

6

"Come on, guys, can you move any slower?" Alexa hit the steering wheel of her 1993 Renault 19, hoping the shockwave from the air horn would disperse the cars jamming the autobahn ramp onto A10.

"Fuck you too, lady!" A retaliating honk came from the car in front. More and more horns began to ripple through the steel snake that lay motionless along the ramp. Nothing worse than being late in the morning and stuck in traffic, where minutes can feel like hours and an hour can stretch into an eternity. Alexa reached into her bag, thumbed out her phone, and opened the email app to check for any incoming messages. Since she quit smoking, refreshing app feeds was her methadone. Sure, it was not the same high, it lacked the sweet dizziness that came from inhaling smoke, but it came pretty close and helped to distract from mental anxiety. 

Nothing important, she thought, as only one newsletter appeared. She went on to refresh her Facebook page, WhatsApp, and her two Instagram accounts - the official one and the one for stalking people.

She placed her thumb on the upper third of the phone screen and pulled down. The app became elastic and stretched as she pulled. When the thumb reached the middle of the screen, she released it and a loading animation started, a circular element that rotated and flashed for a moment, and when done, the app bounced back to its initial state - refreshed. Alexa had to think of an article about the tricks big tech uses to keep us engaged with our phones. Engagement, a euphemism for attention. And attention, a rare commodity in today's attention economy. In the article, a Silicon Valley tech-bro boasted that the more eyeballs they can attract and keep over a period of time, the more ads they can sell. And look, the tech-bro continued, we have billions of people spending hours every day in our ecosystems - voluntarily! 

Voluntarily, my ass, Alexa thought as she checked the calendar app. Because the article also shed light on the mechanics of keeping people enslaved on-screen. For example, the app refresh mechanism is modeled after the mechanics of slot machines: Pull down the lever, see the fruits dance for a moment, get a dopamine rush, win or lose. In the app: Pull down the thumb, see the loading thingy dance for a moment, dopamine rush, new massage or not. If you think about it...

Hoooonk! Honk! Honk! Alexa was rudely jolted from her thoughts. It took her a few moments to register what was happening. Instinctively, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw a woman, face red with fury, in the car behind her. She was screaming, but no sound escaped her car or penetrated Alexa's, but she was definitely fuming. Angry lady gestured with both hands, first rolling and then pointing forward - Egyptian hieroglyphs for Alexa. So she focused on the woman's lips, which very generously and slowly pronounced every letter she spoke, it read: M.O.V.E.B.I.T.C.H. Alexa caught on, cocked her head forward and saw the open road. Her cheeks flushed and grew hot. She shifted into first, shot up the expressway, looked back in the mirror and raised her hand apologetically. Angry lady rolled her eyes and grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

7

Franklin's eyes were still fixed on his phone. Three dots next to Rondas chat indicated that she was writing. He was unaware that he was slowly moving Ladybug into the oncoming traffic. From the outside, the truck's evil grin made it look like it had an axe to grind with the other side.

"Bing, Bing", the phone announced two new messages. Must be my termination papers, Alexa thought as she reached for her phone.

Franklin was shaken awake when the monotonous rolling hum was interrupted by a screeching sound caused by metal rubbing against metal. 

"What the..." Alexa looked up to find a cherry red truck in front of her, kissing the metal railing that separated the two lanes of the expressway.

Franklin pulled the steering wheel hard to the right. The cab spun around and was on its way to the center of the road, but the trailer had other plans.

Alexa watched as it whipped in the opposite direction and slammed hard into the metal barrier. One side was lifted off the ground and for a moment it looked like it was going to tip over. The suspensions were working hard as it came back down. Alexa heard three sharp snaps, it sounded like an invisible lion tamer trying to show the truck its place.

Ladybug calmed down. Franklin sighed in relief, but it was short-lived. When he saw what was causing the relief, his heart dropped to his stomach.

Alexa hit the brakes hard as the first steel beam came off the truck and right at her. The Renault sheared off, losing a side mirror to the beam. It felt like the concrete had turned to ice. The car slid into a one-eighty and Alexa saw angry lady pass her. The anger had left her face and was replaced by a ghostly white, dumbfounded expression. The car did another one-eighty and was back on course, just in time for Alexa to see a steel beam shoot through angry lady's windshield. When it came out the other side, the rear window exploded in a gush of blood, skin, and brains. The angry lady’s car veered to the right and slammed into the steel barrier. The impact was so hard that it ripped the headless body into three pieces by the seat belt lines. That's when Alexa lost sight of angry lady. Her Renault wouldn't stop skidding and spinning and barreled toward the stranded Ladybug with no sign of slowing down. The front of the truck was smashed in, heavy, thick smoke was coming from the engine bay, and one of the exhaust pipes was hanging lazily from the side. Also on the side of the truck, just below the sleeper cab of the Peterbilt 379, was the fuel tank. And before the two machines joined in a fiery embrace, Alexa let out a scream that turned into a wet gargle when the devil's horn pierced her chest.