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At freeway speed, that is beyond the laws of chance, unless it was intentional, especialy as I had sped up and slowed down up to five miles an hour since I had noticed it. My spidy senses were tingling. I thought to Eliza, "Blue Van" and she squeezed me reassuringly. She indicated an off-ramp ahead, and I decided to pull off and top up. The Van swerved onto the off-ramp behind me also, without signaling or slowing down. I checked out the pattern of the cross traffic at the bottom of the ramp, and noticed where the gap was, timing my approach to the signal to match. Luckly for me, my blind spot under the overpass was clear as well, and since the van behind me was speeding up, if anything, I blasted on through the gap I had chosen, against the red light, and the Blue Van followed me, but I hadn't included a gap for them. A noise of impact, crumpling metal, honking horns, clattering of small pieces and a rolling hubcap, as I got back on the freeway up the on-ramp on the other side of. It has to do with my little sister Smita. Smita’s nickname was “Pretty Woman”, not that she looked like Julia Roberts or anything. (I thought Smita was prettier!) It was just that she was so pretty and that song was her favorite. I was proud of the fact that everyone called her “Pretty Woman” at school, and even after we were in college and high school silliness was forgotten, I sometimes used her nickname. Smita and I were only Two year apart in age (I was the oldest) and were unusually close for a brother and sister. We had our share of squabbles alright, but that’s only normal. What wasn’t quite normal, however, were the feelings I started getting for Smita in college. Looking back, I can’t exactly pinpoint the moment when I stopped seeing Smita as a sister and saw her as an extremely sensuous, very desirable young woman. When we’d get together during our visits home from different colleges, I’d find myself staring at her ass or licking my lips over her tits. I started fantasizing.
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