The traffic light on Elm Street.

There’s one traffic light I absolutely dread during my commute to and from work, and that’s the one on Elm Street.

So far I’ve been lucky. Lately it’s been staying green long enough for me to pass through the intersection without incident, although I always catch a glimpse of an old man seated on top of the traffic light while watching the flowing traffic below his feet.

On my way home from work, though, my luck ran out.

The light on Elm Street was red.

And when the light turns red, it stays red for a long, long time. To help deter temptation, there are twelve police cars hidden behind the nearby bushes, waiting and eager to reward any violators with hefty traffic tickets.

Nothing to do do now but wait for the light to change.

And watch the old man sitting on top of the traffic light.

Except now he’s got a book.

I watch as he opens the book and flips through the pages as if searching for something. Then he stops his search as his face lights up with a smile. He casts a menacing glare at me as he begins to read out loud.

“Once upon a time, there were three little pigs…”

Truly, I cannot recall a more horrifying predicament.