I did an illegal U-turn to get out of my one-way street, cutting a whole minute off my arrival time. As I slowed at the intersection, headlights warned me to step on the brake. The red car seemed to slow as it passed in front of me, eventually turning into my street, barely missing my car. I pulled out. 'Turn signal, dumbass,' I mumbled, still frozen and half asleep. My phone lit up as I drove. It was a short journey; my seat heater barely had any time to thaw my insides before I got to the news station. Christmas lights and the occasional working streetlamp lit up the neighbourhood: the narrow shotgun houses with too many plants on their porches, the doors bright yellow, sleepy blue or lively green. When I would drive home later that morning, the people of Mid-City would be bundled up, starting their days with frigid dog walks and coffee runs.