Running Late

He was running late and he hadn't had a chance to
call or text her to say so. She was going to be pissed
he thought. She had been telling him all week how he
needed to make sure he'd be on time today. He thought
he had it all planned out for any contingency but it turns
out to not have been the case. He was racing through the
traffic as best he could without being a complete and utter
asshole. He hated disappointing her. She was probably
fully dressed and waiting on the couch for him to arrive.
Honks and hands greeted him on this drive more often
than he cared to feel. This mad rush, would it matter at
all by the end of the night? Would it be forgiven and
forgotten by tomorrow morning? He hoped it would.
That was a future not yet living. He drove in silence
and finally arrived at his exit. It wouldn't be long now.
The mad dash of desperation, the final stretch was
now at hand. Just one more push.