I was bragging to my friend Hadleigh that I slept with a model
named Jesse. As I drove back home, the insurance
company called, telling me I was an uninsured motorist.
It didn’t surprise me, for I had pledged
to stop using insurance, believing it a scam designed
by Sam. Although, this was only the first in the series
of events that night. It was late October — the start of the World Series.
On the radio, Hendrick’s Autos flaunted their makes and models.
Dusk danced across the sky, decaying, as if it were a prismatic design
made by a graffiti artist like Big-T, who emblazoned his name on the insurance
billboard by the Petersburg exit off I-95. They arrested that man, and he pledged
to not commit a civil offense again. The motorists
on the road brought their vehicles to a halt: one motorist
drove off the side of the bridge in his BMW 3-Series.
Traffic clotted the highway for an hour. Highway patrol pledged
that there would be a ten-minute delay, but I was rear-ended. The model
of my car was the same as the one that flew off the bridge, which confused the insurance
company (which said nothing could be done). My car had a different design.
When traffic started moving again, it seemed as if it were by design
of God. By this time, the sky was as dark as worn tarmac. Being a motorist
is not an exciting task: my boredom was so intense you’d swear I was talking to an insurance
company employee. I sped up (for the thrill of it). Though I did not go as fast as the series
of motorcycles darting past me into the night, disappearing like a model’s
beauty as they age. That is one of the reasons I pledged
to quit smoking — I didn’t want to die. But I broke this pledge
by chain-smoking Dunhill Reds as I was driving. The way I designed
my life, I realized at this point, was not a model
worth imitating. My second realization was that I was a bad motorist,
which surprised no one as I had been in a series
of accidents, in one of which I hit a supermodel. The insurance
company and lawyers battled it out for two years. Though the insurance
company was adamant: they pledged
not to give a cent to the girl’s family. It would seem the series
of events in my life were designed
to work against me. However, I was not as injured the motorist
who was permanently disfigured in a car accident, forfeiting her career as a model.
As I arrived home, I decided I would take insurance company’s gig of modeling.
I pledged to give up writing, as I would rather motorists
see me in a series of advertisements of Geico's design.