The Person I'm Next To Is Excessively Angry At Me

I'm next to a gentleman in a white t-shirt which is stretched tight over an offensively muscular body. He has terrible hair, and at least three fillings. I can see his fillings since he is screaming at me. A lot. This is because I turned left. We are at a stop light a block away from me turning left, he in his car, me in mine. We are separated by ten feet and two panes of glass. I'm not going to bother to point fingers about who was wrong in our traffic dispute, but he totally was. Totally. Regardless, what is interesting is the hate.
I have all sorts of opinions that I keep to myself, I'm sure White Shirt does too, but in the safety of his vehicle he is not only composing an ode to how much he hates me, but sharing it with me. His spit is on the window, it has an odd yellowish hew. I wonder if he was drinking some sort of soda. This red light is taking forever. I am adopting the strict policy of just staring and lightly shaking my head, conferring a moral high ground that poorly disguises my animal terror that this gentleman is going to somehow teleport into my car and tear my limbs off. He is still screaming, and looks even more upset when he sees me taking notes on this.
This light must be one of those new red lights that only changes to green when the planets are aligned just right. Eventually we will be sitting here, hunger gnawing at our bellies and this guy is going to realize he has to eat me to survive. Which won't even be a problem for him morally.
I wonder if his fillings will help him chew me easier.

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