The Virgin Sacrifice

At 65 mph, no one can see you move. You appear to be stopped on the freeway, an object neither at rest nor in motion. The other cars roll past you indignantly touting their clean ticket records, flagrantly abusing their right to traffic school. Defined by committee, to be safe for the masses, only the old, the scared and the dumb move at these speeds.

Oftentimes, Joe believes himself to be all three.

Looking to his left he sees a black Honda Civic fly past him. In that instant he sees her beautiful, thin, too pale, likely a vegan and long straight hair that hangs just past her poor posturing shoulders. She wears an old baseball t-shirt that looks more like it's meant to be worn to bed than to work.

A large melted candle has formed onto her dashboard like lava as the Sponge Bob air fresher hangs above the candle. The virgin sacrifice. Dido moans through the glass at Joe seducing him to Let Go, like he was some captain of a ship and she were a siren. As her car moves past he sees her bumper sticker, "there are only 10 types of people in the world. Those who understand binary and those who don't."

It's not until later at work, well after lunch and as casually as possible, that Joe asks the programmers he's chosen for friends what it means.