It was crush hour in Los Angeles—trucks to the right of me, cars to the left. Five lanes of traffic had crawled to a stop and I was due at a meeting in twenty minutes. I thumbed the office number.
My secretary answered. “Where are you?” she demanded. “The Avenger's here.”
“Stuck on the 2-oh-5.”
“Shall I call Superman?” she whispered.
“What could he do?”
“Give you a literal lift.”
I couldn’t see any other way out of this mess. “Sure,” I said, smiling at myself in the rearview mirror. “I’ll promise him a role in my next blockbuster.”
Let’s see what the others wrote: