Mark was cursing the driver in front of him because she was creeping along. He was running late for a golf game with his friend Barney. He was on a two-lane road that led to the golf course. The road was straight uphill. It went for six blocks through a busy residential neighborhood. There was a four-way stop sign at the end of each block.
Every time the woman ahead arrived at a stop sign, she looked left and right. Then she looked left and right again. Then she proceeded slowly forward.
Mark was pulling his hair out. Never be in a hurry in LA, he muttered to himself. Mark didn't pass her because there was too much oncoming traffic. At the very last stop sign, she turned right.
At last, no one was in front of him. Mark put the pedal to the metal to make up for lost time. However, as soon as he rounded the first curve, he had to immediately brake for a cement truck crawling up the hill at about 5 mph. Mark couldn't believe it. His tee time was 11:45 and it was 11:39. Mark ignored the solid yellow line and passed the truck. It was 11:40 when he got to the parking lot. He walked quickly to the clubhouse to tell Mel, the assistant pro, that he had arrived.
Mel said, "We're running about 10 minutes behind, so you're okay. But Barney just called. He said there was a fatal accident on the freeway. The highway patrol closed his side of the freeway. He said to go on without him; he's going back home.