Google Maps is always right.
I can force my foot through the floor,
and weave a wicked web through the 405,
but fifty minutes stays fifty minutes.
It’s only a matter of time before
you hit the dreaded red wave
of brake lights and traffic lights
that give way to white-hot road rage,
and may I say, my steering wheel
can take a hell of a beating?
A few beatings, actually.
It’s definitely not its first tango.
And for some reason,
inexplicable, delusional reason,
I always think I can
turn fifty minutes into forty.
Every single time.
But the Earth always spins counter-clockwise,
the first Matrix movie was the best,
emails from Nigeria are scams,
and Google Maps is always