The intersection of Murray and Moore streets is a choke point.

On each of its four corners, there are popular businesses. On the northeast corner, there is a Chick-fil-A, and as you look clockwise, there is a Seven-brew, a Walmart neighborhood market, and a large liquor store on the other corners.

The roads are extra wide, with four lanes and a turn lane in the center. The intersection itself might be three-quarters of an acre, and the flow of traffic is controlled by towering traffic lights with long arms that extend from the corners to the center of each lane.

Every day, thousands of vehicles travel through this intersection. During peak hours, these vehicles often wait a very long time to pass through. Everyone wants coffee and Chick-fil-A in the morning. The restaurant sells plain coffee that nobody wants. Everyone has their favorite, and the Seven-Brew sells it.

***

Don likes a hot Chai latte—a lot, enough to wait as long as it takes. The cup holder in his Volkswagen’s center console is covered with spilled coffee stains. Don does not see this anymore—the spills accumulated over time, slow enough for Don to get used to the mess.

In front of Don is a large SUV, piloted by Angie Albertson. On the back window, a stenciled sign reads ‘Albertson&Alberson, attorneys at law’. Don notices the spelling on the second name and wonders if it was a mistake. If not, he thinks it is pretty cool.

There are always people in the line of queued cars who buy coffee for colleagues. Being in line behind one of these dorks seriously increases your wait time. Don strongly suspects this will be true for the SUV driver. His suspicion is confirmed when a worker approaches the vehicle, and a slim arm, wearing lots of gold bangles and a massive wedding ring, appears out of the driver’s window, holding a list.

Don sighs soundlessly in his mind. This is something he learned to do after decades of working with idiots. There is no point getting upset, irritated, or impatient. Things happen eventually. Just wait, and you’ll see.

Eventually, Don gets to order his latte.

***

Ahmed looks across the intersection at the coffee shop. Angie catches his attention when she rolls down her window and extends her list to the store worker. She is very blond and very pretty. The oversized vehicle she drives makes her look small, like a girl.

Ahmed likes girls. He was promised seventy virgin girls in heaven when he completes his mission. The truck he drives contains forty thousand pounds of diesel and fertilizer, expertly mixed and packed by the men at the mosque. Ahmed is wearing an explosive vest. He is heading to the convention center downtown, where many politicians are gathered.

The trailer he is hauling has decals on its side, announcing that he is moving chairs, tables, and tents. The organizers of the political event ordered a giant vinyl tent to be used for outside dining. Ahmed will park the truck behind the convention center and detonate his vest at the front entrance. The imam at the mosque explained that this will cause panic and drive everyone out the back, towards the truck. The truck is set to detonate five minutes after his vest, triggered by the same button he will press to enter heaven and meet his brides.

Ahmed smiles. Seventy brides! His mother will also receive lots of money, and he, Ahmed Mohammed Ahkter, will be a martyr, remembered and celebrated forever! And seventy virgins!

His smile falters when his attention returns to the traffic. He is in the center lane, ready to turn south towards the city. It is slow going. Many cars are entering and leaving the roadway, doing morning commuter shopping, or holding up traffic as they sit, indicators on, waiting for someone to give them a gap so they can cross lanes to do more shopping.

‘Infidels!’ Ahmed says to no one in particular, looking again at the blond in the big car before he lets out the clutch to inch towards the light. It is early, and he has lots of time. He has long awaited this opportunity to exact payment for the harm caused to his homeland by the American politicians. He can wait a little longer.

***

Russel is running late. He was supposed to be at his destination ten minutes ago. His dispatcher keeps messaging him to get there as fast as humanly possible. Previous late deliveries have caused this customer huge losses, and they have threatened to cancel their contract and find another transportation company. With the economy in shambles, every customer is needed to stay in business.

‘Move fucker!’, Russel shouts when the truck in front of him is slow to move as traffic creeps forward. ‘Your tables and tents can’t be that heavy!’

***

The traffic signal at this intersection allows turning traffic to pass first. It displays arrows for those in the center turn lanes to go first before allowing cross traffic through. These turn arrows have a very short cycle.

In front of Ahmed is a school bus—one of those short ones. Joe, the bus driver, hates this bus and this route. He transports special education kids, who require lots of help getting on and off. The parents are the worst, always treating him like he does not know how to handle these cripples and retards. These kids may have issues, and they are fucking noisy! Joe likes to listen to rock music to block out the noise.

The turn arrow illuminates green, but Joe does not see it immediately. He was scrolling through his music library, looking for something befitting his foul mood, feeling sorry for himself.

Ahmed, behind Joe, does not honk his horn. He waits patiently, thinking about his promised virgins, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

Russel looks up, sees the green arrow and the stationary school bus, and pulls his truck’s horn.

Don and Angie, still waiting for their orders, look towards the intersection, the blaring horn demanding their attention. The last thing they see is a startled Ahmed rear-ending the school bus, not violently but with enough force to move something in his trailer that sets off the bomb.

Forty thousand pounds of diesel and fertilizer, packed by expert bomb makers, has the explosive equivalent of twenty thousand pounds of TNT. It left a crater that spanned the entire intersection. It completely obliterated the businesses on the four corners and flattened many more as far as a quarter mile away. The trailer also contained a fragmentation layer of scrap metal. Some of this improvised shrapnel was later found more than a mile away.

***

The intersection of these people at Murray and Moore streets ensured that Russel would never be late again. Joe died listening to ‘The Final Cut’, wishing everyone on the bus dead. Don will never have to deal with idiots anymore, and Angie made her last coffee run. Ahmed will not meet his brides; he did not trigger the explosion after all.

Much later, the convening politicians conveniently used this explosion to strengthen their base and cause a lot more harm to Ahmed’s homeland, killing his family in his mother’s new house.

Plans are underway to rebuild the intersection, and the lost stores will return bigger and better.

Eventually, life goes on like nothing changed. You just have to wait long enough.