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.