405

I'm driving the highway. The 405 highway. It's steep dark. Only ten at night, but already dark as if it was the wee hours ours of the morning. There are lights ahead of me:  two police cars and a fire truck. An ambulance just left. The police cars are blinking and I am wondering who died tonight? Who died while driving somewhere - maybe on the way home or to a night out. Maybe to see a friend they haven't seen in a while. Maybe they just went on a drive to clear their heads and never came back. Who chose this route out of all routes. Who blindly followed their gps system. Who looked at their phone because some message popped up that was more important than the road ahead. Who drove as safe as ever but was in the most tragic place in the most tragic of times. Who drove and shall never drive again.
I'm driving the highway and counting my lucky stars. I know I could be in that other car that is surrounded by blinking lights. Lights of warning: this could be you. This could be you. This could be you. One message echoes loudly tonight: Drive safe. And count those lucky stars along the way.