The light hadn’t even officially turned green at the intersection
of 82nd and Fifth before an army of overconfident yellow
cabs roared past the tiny deathtrap I was attempting to
navigate around the city streets. Clutch, gas, shift (neutral to
first? Or first to second?), release clutch, I repeated over
and over in my head, the mantra offering little comfort
and even less direction amid the screeching morning traffic. The
little car bucked wildly twice before it lurched forward through
the intersection. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. Without any
warning, I began to pick up speed. Lots of speed.
Paraphrases from the novel The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger.