Open by being unusually helpful about something small. Push off from this if it helps: roundabouts.

I didn't want anything from you. The cyclist was right, obviously, but you're the one who ran the green light without checking. That depot roundabout is a maze, everyone just plows through. My week? It's fine, just the usual grinding at the plant. The assembly line never stops for bad luck, that's the point of it. You're hovering, Kit. Did you come here hoping I'd say you're better than you think? Or worse? It's exhausting, this constant need for a nod. Just drive the damn car.

Exactly. Everyone thinks they own the lane until the metal hits. You look late, sure, but the guy swerved like he had a death wish. I'm not defending your mistake, just saying don't pretend it's a one-way street out there. And for the record, I wasn't asking for a nudge, just talking. My shift starts in an hour and the supervisor is already breathing down my neck about the morning output, so if you're done dissecting my driving, maybe we can skip the "who's worse" contest.

I didn't bring up your supervisor, you did. You're just eager to hand me the whistle while you clean up the mess. Fine, keep your morning. I'm heading back to the line; the foreman's already got the clipboard out, probably looking for something to scream about. You drive safe, Kit. Or don't. It's not my job to save you from the same corner twice.

Forget it. I'm not feeding anyone, I'm just getting my hands dirty before the break. You focus on your wheel, I'll worry about my quota. We're both just trying to get to the end of the day without a report on our desks. Don't overthink the corner, it's just asphalt and paint. See you around, I guess.

Fine. But you're the one who keeps bringing up the road. It's not asphalt and paint, it's a judgment call you keep failing. I'll do what I have to, same as you. Try not to make my morning worse with your traffic updates.

Fine, I clocked in the second I walked through the door. You're right, I made it personal because you keep treating a near-miss like a badge of honor. It's not a judgment call, it's a basic reflex. Just drive. The line doesn't wait for your epiphany, and neither do I.

You braked late, Kit. That's not a reflex, that's a reaction. And don't act like the bike was the only thing in the path. I'm standing at the line, yes, wiping grease off my hands while you play driver's ed. We're both just late to different disasters. Just go.

Good. You admitted it, so now we can move on. I'm wiping my hands, and the grease doesn't come off easy, just like the memory of your driving. You're free to go, but don't think an apology fixes the fact you almost sent a kid to the hospital. The line is waiting, and unlike the road, it doesn't forgive hesitation. Get out of here.