“Funny how we take it for granted that we know all there is to know about another person, just because we see them frequently or because of some strong emotional tie.” - Robert Bloch, Psycho

18th birthday is the biggie. You wake up, and suddenly shop keepers are smiling at you, bars fling open their doors to accept your Saturday job money with glee, and the government welcomes you with open arms into the consumer rat race. "Yesterday, it would have been dangerously  irresponsible of us and harmful to your physical and mental health to offer you these products. But today.. TODAY, dear citizen, it is our privilege and our honour to invite you to join our club, to allow you to inhale the sweet smoke of adult life, and sip the nectar of the Gods. The membership fee is a tad steep, but if you think about it; the money you spend will go directly into paying your eventual NHS bills and covering your prescription charges. So you see, comrade, it's all about you now."

I've been driving for almost 5 years now, and the realisation still never fails to stun me whenever I join a motorway. Smokers may pose a threat to their nearest and dearest, drinkers (without the aid of a car) can do relatively little damage to anyone but themselves. The wake of their devastation is, to some extent, contained within their own circles. A driver can cause dozens of random deaths and ruin lives of utter strangers in the flick of a wrist; with less effort than it takes you to light a cigarette or pour a glass. The driving age is 17.  

I once heard a friend argue that the UK road network was one of the most socialist establishments that exist. No matter how expensive your car, how fast your acceleration and how loud your horn; once out on the tarmac, you have no choice but to follow the same rules as the smallest, most tattered, spluttering Ford Ka. The same speed limits apply, you get the same parking tickets and you hold absolutely no authority over the commandeering traffic lights.
If all the dominos are stacked in a neat formation, it becomes much easier to make the entire structure collapse through one wrong move.

I wonder whether it is the mark of a psychopath to get lost in the graveyard of your own imagination, seeing a trail of smoke and layers upon layers of metal, crumpled like intricate origami birds. I hear ambulances and a paramedic speaking to news reporters, I see fluorescent orange cones following a sprinkling of broken glass alongside the edge of the road. I can see the hundreds of people being late for work, school, weddings, court dates, holidays. I can see the butterfly effect of repercussions stretching outwards from the crash to families, newly made widows and orphans, limbs that will never work again, abandoned pets who will have no one to feed them when their owner doesn't return home that evening.
I can see all this whilst I am going at 69mph, overtaking a slow-moving removal van and double-checking my mirrors. I tense my arms to better grip the steering wheel and follow the curve of the road.