I hate driving in a city I've never been in before. Sarasota is no different. Of course, the lane I'm in ends before I'm ready to turn, so I have to merge over. And of course, some asshole Florida driver refuses to let me, racing up in his peeling, twelve-year-old minivan to fill the spot I'm preparing to enter. This leaves me no recourse but to squish in behind him at the red light. (You know how to squish. There's not quite enough room for you to change lanes properly, but you have to do it, so you do your best to get into the correct lane while leaving enough room in the one you're departing that traffic can get around.)

As I ooze over, the shirtless driver puts the van into park and gets out of the car to dialogue with the motorist ahead of him. Is it a fight? Is it a discussion about directions? WHO CARES SHIRTLESS GUY JUST GOT OUT OF THE CAR AT A RED LIGHT.

The license plate on the van? "NATIVE 2."