The Jerk

One bone-chilling morning, while still active in my insanity, I peered through the window at the rear of the paddy wagon and idly watched as traffic paused for a red light. A car stopped within a few feet of my gaze. I observed the passengers as I sat shivering on the unupholstered wooden bench. The car's driver, a conservatively dressed young father, was accompanied by his two children. He represented everything that I didn't have--responsibility, stability, sobriety. I despised him.