The news roared through the city like Superman out to crush a Playstation baddie. Cell phones flipped open everywhere, shouting their confusion, outrage, and apologies for being late to the world. Palms, Blackberries, and notebooks pounded the Internet, while their batteries lasted, with frustration and demands for explanations.
Rush hour traffic in the Metropolis had been a one-way ticket to Hell for as long as anyone could remember. But on this Monday morning, the jams surpassed the maddest imaginings of the darkest pessimist. Lines of stopped vehicles stretched deep into the suburbs. Freeway ramps 100 miles from the city center were strewn with broken glass from the cars that had sped onto them, expecting the usual clear sailing, only to ram into the backs of the queues that had formed. Many a half-asleep creature of commuter habit was jolted awake, not by the morning's Starbucks, but by the frantic squeal of brakes and the fury of raised voices, yelling at each other and, above all, at the lack of motion.






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