traffic

Furloughing a bunch of air traffic controllers has a pretty easy-to-predict effect on air travel: It causes delays.

I have some road rage inside of me. Traffic, especially in L.A., is a pet peeve of mine.

Every year, August lashes out in volcanic fury, rising with the din of morning traffic, its great metallic wings smashing against the ground, heating the air with ever-increasing intensity.

In age of consumerism and materialism, I traffic in blue sky and colored air.

An advanced city is not a place where the poor move about in cars, rather it__ where even the rich use public transportation

Never follow the crowd....Until and unless you're crossing the road...

Why do I always forget that traffic is a social affair?

The line of traffic advancing towards the rising sun looked like a procession of the returning dead. Every one of them, solitaries in clean shirts, smoking, checking mirrors to see if their reflections were still there, wore dark glasses.

Time passed at an accelerated pace. They could be sitting in traffic or talking on the phone or waiting in line for a movie, and their time felt precious, important, worthwhile.

There's a difference between driving and texting. When your driving your eyes have to be open and on the road watching the cars around you, road signs, and traffic lights. Along with your mind on the road and destination. Which means you are multitasking. When your texting your eyes are on your cell phone screen and key pad. Along with your mind on what your going to say next. So how can you do both? Please stop!

On that walk around the building, two sets of cops coming out stopped to tell our guys to hustle us inside so they could head back out on the road. Accidents everywhere. A pileup oneach of two major roads. __elcome to winter,_ one said. __hen fifty percent of drivers should have their licenses temporarily suspended.

This stupidity of sounding a siren and speeding through traffic with a coffin must be an African speciality.

Traffic in Joburg is like the democratic process. Every time you think it's going to get moving and take you somewhere, you hit another jam.

I was once in San Francisco, and I parked in the only available space, which happened to be on the other side of the street. The law descended on me. Was I aware of how dangerous the manoeuvre I__ just made was? I looked at the law a bit blankly. What had I done wrong? I had, said the law, parked against the flow of traffic. Puzzled, I looked up and down the street. What traffic? I asked. The traffic that would be there, said the law, if there was any traffic. This was a bit metaphysical, even for me, so I explained, a bit lamely, that in England we just park wherever we can find a parking space available, and weren__ that fussy about which side of the street it was on. He looked at me aghast, as if I was lucky to have got out of a country of such wild and crazy car parkers alive, and promptly gave me a ticket. Clearly he would rather have deported me before my subversive ideas brought chaos and anarchy to streets that normally had to cope with nothing more alarming than a few simple assault rifles. Which, as we know, in the States are perfectly legal, and without which they would be overrun by herds of deer, overbearing government officers, and lawless British tea importers.

If you haven't seen your wife smile at a traffic cop, you haven't seen her smile her prettiest.

They've never known a time when people drank rain water because it was pure, or could eat snow, or swim in any river or brook. The last time I drove to Washington the traffic was so bad that I could have made better time with a horse.

The smell of cars' smokeas I wade through trafficovershadows the freshfragrance of Mother Earthdrenched in rain. There canbe no greater testimony to man's progress

Clouds shed the agony of the sky and rain concludes it by covering us in filth. What do you think about the puddles of mud and traffic jams? I so hate rain.