<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fth.bing.com%2Fth%2Fid%2FOIP.p7PYTYMhoB9Y6eSSpHNfqQHaJN%3Fpid%3DApi%26rs%3D1&amp;hash=230fc6aee5dbaa579054e439c5cef024" href="https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIP.p7PYTYMhoB9Y6eSSpHNfqQHaJN?pid=Api&amp;rs=1" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Mark Miles </a>punched the acceleration pedal on his<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fs7g10.scene7.com%2Fis%2Fimage%2Fmaserati%2Fmaserati%2Finternational%2FBrand%2FAlfieri%2F2016-05-24%2FAlfieri-9_v1.jpg%3F%241400x2000%24%26fit%3Dconstrain&amp;hash=27d83f0119340c38698640d60c8a1c6a" href="https://s7g10.scene7.com/is/image/maserati/maserati/international/Brand/Alfieri/2016-05-24/Alfieri-9_v1.jpg?$1400x2000$&amp;fit=constrain" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">seafoam Maserati Alfieri</a>, weaving through the freeway traffic as he listened to the sound track for his upcoming movie. He scoffed internally at all the peons in their old cars clogging up the roads, wondering briefly if it wouldn’t be better to have freeways where only the elite could drive. He was late; those puttering along at only ten or fifteen miles over the speed limit were seriously cramping his style.<br/><br/>Intense brown eyes glinted as he glanced in the rear view mirror to see whose pipes he was hearing. He swiveled, looked in the right rear view, and then saw the flash of a red and yellow racing bike just in time. He nearly bounced into a motorcyclist who seemed intent on racing, and when their eyes locked and the rider on the leader bike nodded, the race was on. Soon they were cutting off other cars and trucks on the way to the next interchange, treating the other commuters as if they were merely obstacles to be passed. A wide grin crossed Mark’s face, etching a white-teethed smile across the stylish scruff he was growing out for his next movie role. He would be playing a rough-and-tumble ex-Ranger who had to rescue his kidnapped sister from Russian thugs. The trip he was taking to a ski lodge was his idea of ‘research.’ After all, the part he was playing involved both climbing up the side of high rises and skiing down impossible slopes. He had to have<i>some</i>fun in his life to break up the intense sessions of work, acting out the stories that people loved to watch.<br/><br/>In the race, Mark had a disadvantage. Whereas the motorcyclist could squeeze between the cars, Mark had to take a full lane. He balanced this by taking insane risks: squeezing sideways between cars when needed, riding the shoulder, even drifting between a semi-truck and a flat bed. In his mind it was all good and fun, and no more dangerous than the stunt double’s takes on the movie set.<br/><br/>Mark was pulling ahead, just about to pass and leave the motorcyclist in the dust, when a blur seemed to come out of nowhere and merge onto the freeway. Mark slammed the brakes, causing his car to fishtail as he swerved around the nuisance. He saw the motorcyclist lift a fist in victory as he passed through the interchange first, then take the off-ramp to the connector freeway. The sound of his pipes could be heard, even way back in the traffic Mark had been stuck behind. The actor-slash-model scowled.<br/><br/>“Fuck that!” he glanced at the driver he had nearly hit, noting her long dark hair and the way she held the steering wheel, and in a fit of frustration lifted his right hand to give her his one-fingered salute as he sped away. The next offramp was the one he needed; Airport Departures, and with another press on the accelerator, Mark cut across three lanes of traffic to make the exit. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to drive,” he muttered to himself, still blaming the girl in the merging car for his loss.<br/><br/>After parking his car in the furthest lit corner of the airport parking, Mark grabbed his<a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fcdn.shopify.com%2Fs%2Ffiles%2F1%2F1021%2F5473%2Fproducts%2Fvmf_vendor_RVJ_4231258_1440456226984_787486.jpg%3Fv%3D1589479571&amp;hash=d1d3b48fca836ba5c822471422707aca" href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1021/5473/products/vmf_vendor_RVJ_4231258_1440456226984_787486.jpg?v=1589479571" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">olive green and tan Christian Dior bag</a>, slung it over his shoulder, and then slipped on his green canvas backpack before walking to the terminal. He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had time. The race with the biker had shaved a few minutes off his arrival. He strode with arrogant confidence past the lines of people checking in, until he got to the First Class/Homeland Security Certified lane and waited with the other elite travelers to check his bag. As he stood in line, thinking about the fresh snow at the lodge, he had no idea that the person he had flipped off on the freeway was destined to be on the same plane.