Exit Wounds by Meg Burrows

Sometimes words don't get into their lanes. They turn a U bend and get stuck in one way traffic. Mine certainly do, you've always known this. This particular time its 6pm and we're cutting it fine. Discussions have split themselves into statements, one easy declaration after the other. We're sitting in the brake lights, fighting about little tittle tattle that battles with things we should have flung away with your thesaurus, you know, the one that made everything so damn complicated.