Young Writers Society

This is a short story about being stuck in traffic.

I was rotting in mid day traffic when I saw them. They were making their way to every car, tapping on windows, asking for donations. I slumped down in my seat, hoping they wouldn't see me, just a random unoccupied running car sitting in traffic. The light turned green, and no body moved, then it turned yellow, nobody moved, then red. I was stuck, trapped in my car, which wasn't much protection at all; I didn't
even have tinted windows for Christ sakes. The boob next to me was picking, no, digging in his nose while singing to Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight". It's amazing how comfortable people get in their own automobiles, forgetting it's just one giant glass cube for all to see. Then the fatty looked at his finger, and inserted it into his mouth. I couldn’t stop staring at him sucking on his finger like it was a lollipop, and it was thanks to that fucking slob that I lost track of the scavengers. I couldn't see any in sight, but that's exactly when I heard a tap tap on my window.

Father Jensen was a tall, dark man holding a big white bucket riddled with ones and small change. The sun glistened off the beads of sweat that were studding his forehead and rolling down his nose. His shirt had a giant smiley face and said "Inner City Baptist Church". Christ. There's nothing worse than church beggars, especially from the “broken inner city”. They’re the professional beggars, homeless should take note of these guys.
"Good afternoon sir," Father Jensen said. "Care to donate to the church?"
My window was still rolled up, so I turned up my volume, and pretended not to hear him. He tapped again, and again, and again. I looked around, praying to the very man I wasn't donating to, for that green light.
Green damn it, turn fucking green already.
After a minute of Father Jensen standing right next to my car holding his big game show host grin, I rolled the window down.
"Sure..." I said digging around in my pockets for loose change. I dumped a quarter, a nickel and some dimes into his big white piggy bank feeling more than generous and proceeded to roll the window back up.
His eyebrows rose, "That's it? This is for the inner city church sir, we need all the help we can get. Please."
I hate when they do this, the guilt trip. Giving was never enough, they always needed more. Besides, it was an uneven fight, two vs. one, me vs. him and God.
I threw in the only bill in my wallet, a $20, and finally the light switched to green.
That $20.60 could have bought me so much, so much it makes me sick to think I threw it away.
I pulled into the closest gas station and bought a fresh pack of cigarettes (Marlboro Reds) and “Dutch” chocolate milk that was hardly Dutch. I needed to feel some sort of buzz, be it caffeine or nicotine.
While I sat on the curb drinking my milk and watching the traffic ooze forward, I saw him. Father Jensen was flying down Grand River in his Mercedes 300, blaring “Mo' Money, Mo' Problems”.
I flicked the lighter and felt the charcoal smoke singe my esophagus, “God damn it.”

Hmmm, I like the way you took an idea, and wrote about it. I'm not sure I liked the fact that there was so much swearing, since it isn't really necessary and it just makes it so less people will read your work. Aside from that, this was a pretty sound piece of writing. The plot didn't really go anywhere, but that's something that's kind of unavoidable. This has the potential to be pretty funny, but I really think you should cut the language.

This I loved. This is great. I like that the character doesn't want to be charitable, I like the fact that you can make something which by definition shouldn't be interesting, interesting. Swearing: why do people make such a big deal out of it I don't know. They're just words, and the fact is, adding them between other words makes sentences sound good in a way, strangely poetic. This story isn't anything deep, but it's the kind of story you smile your way through. I really liked this.

Congratulations.