Agent of Karma

I thundered down the highway, the speakers in my truck blasting out AC/DC’s classic, “Highway to Hell.”  I was feeling pretty good, the wind howling along through my open windows.  Suddenly, I was forced to slam on my brakes.

“Asshole!” I shouted, as the Pontiac Aztec in front of me merged into my lane at a glacial fifteen miles per hour.  Without a turn signal, of course.

I fumed behind the wheel, my good mood completely ruined.  This guy needed to be taught a lesson.  And fortunately, thanks to my license, I was the right person for the job.

Merging over into the left lane (using my turn signal, of course), I crept up next to the green monstrosity of a car.  Looking over, I was not surprised to see that the man behind the wheel was texting on his phone, blatantly holding it up in front of the steering wheel.  I was surprised he was still on the road at all.

I reached under my seat, gripping the familiar handle.  Hitting the button to automatically roll down my passenger side window, I pulled upward, leveling the pistol across the car to point at the source of my hatred.  He, of course, was completely oblivious.  I would change that, I thought vindictively, pulling the trigger several times while an evil grin spread across my face.

As the paint pellets from the paintball pistol collided with his window, the idiot gave a gratifying jerk, dropping his phone between his feet and nearly veering out of his lane.  Revenge accomplished, I floored the accelerator in my own car, speeding past him.  “Agent of karma, asshole!” I shouted out the window.  I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I yelled it nonetheless.

On the heads-up display on my windshield, a small notification popped up, informing me that I’d picked up ten points on my karma license.  I grinned.  Sometimes, earning a living was hard work.  Other times, like right now, it was the most enjoyable activity in the world.

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