We’re racing 50 miles per hour down Santa Monica Boulevard. Somewhere ahead is a bus that we blindly follow. Five minutes earlier I got a call from Sam of WagAware that a homeless man had four puppies in a Tupperware bin with the lid on it. They weren’t getting nearly enough air to breathe. So I jumped into my car with my husband, James, and our dog, Arnold.
Red light. Have to stop. Time stretches as Sam updates me on her location. I tell her to drive in front of the bus and purposefully drive slowly, which might allow us time to catch up (do NOT try this!). It works. I hear the horn from the bus in the distance, angry with Sam for slowing it down. Half a mile back turns to a quarter mile and then, the glowing taillights and silhouette of a bus emerge in the night. The shadowy vehicle merges into the left lane, probably in an attempt to get away from Sam, the crazy lady driving so slow in front of him. Sam follows suit. The bus hits its brakes, pulls over, and stops. Because of Sam and her driving? No: The doors fly open and passengers step off onto the sidewalk at the bus stop.