It was always on the corner of Los Angeles Ave and First St, right by Lenny Dykstra’s Car Wash. At least that is how I remember the starting line. We’d crawl up from the back seat and watch the red light, just past my Dad's mustache, flicker across the intersection from our over-sized van. I want to think that he pushed the accelerator just a little bit, to get the anticipation where it should be, right before he counted.
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| Pole Position |
“One,” he would say with a short pause. I’d lick my lips and think, there is no way. I'd look at my brother, and his wrinkled brow would say, "I know dude, no way."
“Two,” he would say and draw out the ooh, like oooh you are in trouble. I’d check out the car next to us to see if they were counting, too. They weren't, but only because they didn't know magic. All they saw was red.
“Three,” he would finish the count and draw out the eee like weeee this is fun. My brother's brow would straighten while the van would start to rock from side to side.
And it was in that moment, the ultimate pause, that I thought, my goodness maybe he can predict the light change. Just maybe this guy can actually do that because if anyone could determine the exact moment red went to green, it was the guy behind the wheel. Dad knew magic.
ads appeared in my dreams. Don’t ask me what else I dreamt about, but I shot out of bed and asked myself, “really dude, a Kindle?” It isn’t a surprise though, you can see the ads all along the inside of the train, at the tube stops, and along the outside walls to each and every station. You can’t avoid the Kindle, and I am ashamed to say I want it. I want it bad. I want it the way Ralphie wanted an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle. Love the opportunity to quote Ralphie, but I am dead serious here. Give it to me. 
