This is just a short story I found from my old notebooks from high school. Not much of a plot but I like the way I described the scene. Enjoy.

The blanket of white thick mist rests over the city; Covering the tall buildings that tower above everything else. only a short distance could be seen ahead.
Moving slowly through the highway, the battered taxi crawls through the wet road. I say a short prayer of protection – regretting getting into this taxi. The dead wipers resting on the windshield of the old taxi awakes every passenger’s anxiety.
Cars swoosh past us like Usain Bolt passing a wheelchair bound elderly woman. The driver, with an irritated look on his face from the fine he received earlier, stares at the road ahead.
With his eyes fixed on the blurred white lines on either side of our lane, he tries to keep the staggering taxi on the lane. The quietness of the passengers invokes an atmosphere of anguish as the side view mirrors shake frantically outside the taxi.
The taxi slows down. Up ahead lies a queue of cars. It seems no car, whether expensive or cheap, road worthy or not is spared from this congestion that suddenly slows traffic.
At this moment every driver seems frustrated at the slow progress made in these five lanes. The plump woman sitting next to me breathes a sigh of relief; probably glad that we are moving so slowly.
I gaze outside the window, my Vision blurred by the precipitation that has built up on the window. noticing the driver wipe the interior windshield with a small dirty clothe, I Hope it doesn’t rain.
The snake of cars ahead extends to the horizon of the highway. Some cars swiftly cut into any open spaces as they try to move faster, all in vain.
Pondering to myself, I question why I was in such a hurry to get to  Johannesburg. Our lanes are slow in contrast to the cars flying past us headed in the opposite direction. Reaching for my bag, I grab my English poetry book and decide to study a poem. This is going to be a long poignant journey.

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