City TrafficCel vs. Highway Transverser

I sit in traffic on the BQE. The traffic is eternal, my body is cramped and misshapen. Moments of despair building up into a hollow rage only to cascade back into banal boredom. This is life on the BQE, TrafficCel. I sit in this hellscape of a city, unable to move forward. Eventually, I’ll make it back. Back to my apartment, back to another TinderGirl™ that I hate. I hate them because I hate myself. But I’ll still be a TrafficCel unable to move forward. The real traffic is on the inside, I’m stuck on the inside.

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The lanes are wide open. I fly through the open highways of the HeartLand. I transverse in all manners. My body is robust and vigorous. I have weights strapped to the driver's seat. I am in a squat position with my feet on the steering wheel- feet steady just like my state of mind. My resistance band is hooked up from my seat to the brake pedal(I won’t be needing it- I transverse). I do sets of resistance band leg presses with my feet on the steering wheel and the gas pedal duck-tapped to the floor. I zoom call my fertile wife and she smiles with our young son in her arms. We transversed the single’s optionality trap together, we transversed into parenthood. My son now jumping into his play car, practicing his steering wheel squats. A young Transverser if I ever saw one. I smile broadly, as a HighWay Transverser should- because I Transverse on the inside, I move forward on the inside.