On this red-letter day, I managed to survive rush hour on the 826, the (in)famous Palmetto Expressway in Miami.
Churning relentlessly southward, driving lights fading to the horizon both fore and aft, I felt humbled yet thrilled to be part of such a dramatically large surge of humanity.
This, I thought, must be akin to the primal thrill someone feels the first time they run with the bulls at Pamplona.