Fire them all! Fire those slick-tongued, dull-minded, shoe-shined elected or task-force nincompoops who sit behind dark, shiny desks twirling little yellow pencils in their pointed lips while they pretend to contemplate our traffic nightmare.
They are breathing scented, filtered air and drinking afternoon tea while I sit frozen in time like a skeleton in a metal cage, smelling stink and rot, with my hair, fingernails, eyes yellowing in thick exhaust smoke. “Black gold” evaporates from my gas tank into an already-overladen cancer cloud that poisons everything it touches.
Fire those who plan the streets, without rhyme or reason, who set green lights to allow only three cars to pass, those who snap traffic cameras to catch the fourth car, those with no contingency or emergency plans, those who display no police presence when frequent trouble happens and those who change concrete construction barricades daily without notice just to make sure I am paying attention. And don’t forget those who build hairpin turns without railings.
Then bless each one of us who, on a daily basis, risk life and limb to climb into an automobile to perhaps run a 10-minute errand which turns into two hours — if I am lucky.
Fire the sorry lot of them who have sentenced Baton Rouge to die a slow, painful death in traffic hell. It is getting worse, daily, it is ongoing and terribly frustrating.
Irene M. Beary
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