The traffic here is crazy, though I've only seen one accident with blood. Some of the intersections have lights and some of them work some of the time. It's really funny because the Afghans don't quite know what to do with a light that works. Some of them will stop on a red, but they usually get honked at vigorously as the cars pile up behind them like a logjam on a surging river. So away they go, propelled into the raging intersection.
There are a few traffic cops, but they haven't been trained well and about half the drivers ignore them. Sometimes the cops just give up and go sit in the shade. Others stand there forlornly waving their red paddles, imagining that they are exercising great power over this flow of metal and smoke when, deep in their hearts, they must know that they are being completely ignored.
You enter the intersection where the traffic cop has retreated to shade and you're faced with ten cars coming at you from every direction. Who is going to take the right of way? You eye the one on the left. He eyes you. You project all the testosterone you can muster through the windshield and towards him, hoping to cow him with your manhood. You see his face begin to show signs of fear. You've bested him! Oh, no, it's one of those Pakistani cars with the driver on the other side. You've been jousting with the frightened passenger! Arrrggghhh, as you slam on the brakes and the driver sails by with a condescending look on his face. Your manhood lies in tatters, trailing behind your car for all to see like the cans behind a newlywed's car. You slowly reel in the cans as you drive on, vowing that the next time it will be different. But it never is.
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