I want him, I want to sink my fists into him all over a honk, a single horn blast.

That's all it took to enrage me. No, enrage implies a change in emotion. This is overwhelming, transforming, as if I had become something of no resemblance to me.

For the life of me, I cannot figure out what he expected me to do. I merged onto the freeway with but a car-length between me and the sedan in front of me. Yet here he is, demanding I move to... somewhere.

He gets his wish: I let go the throttle, swing the bike to the right, and gesture for him to come beside me, to join me on the side of the road.

He slows, then nearly stops, taking with him the four lanes of 101 behind me. I see their headlights growing dimmer as I lazily begin to accelerate, shrugging at my fearlessness/stupidity/insanity.