Maybe He Just Skips Breakfast?

As I tootle to work in the morning in my little blue car, I see some familiar faces in the cars around me, as they’re also tootling towards their respective workplaces at exactly the same time. One such face belongs to a be-suited chap with an aggressive sea-faring beard, who drives a much larger, greener car. Green would seem to be an appropriate colour as I often encounter him in my rear-view mirror, typically at the lights, and watch with fascination as he busies himself scooping out and gorging on the contents of his nose.

With a furrowed brow he examines his fingers like he’s choosing the appropriate blade of a Swiss Army knife, before plunging the appropriate digit into each nostril in turn and emerging triumphantly with his mucous prize. He then pops these valuable comestibles into his waiting mouth.

I’m not sure what it is about being in a car (and I’m sure he’s not the only one), where there’s an erroneously-perceived distance between you and the outside world. A car is an extension of your home, and being as you are, surrounded by personal effects and the comfortable knowledge that the space in which you sit is owned (or at least partially-owned) by you, there’s a tendency to relax in your automotive kingdom.

For those who regularly scoff bogeys during lengthy drives - you’re surrounded by glass. We can still see you, you know.