Everyone who drives turns left sometimes. It’s a beautiful thing to do, and it’s even more beautiful to see. A driver waits for a gap in traffic, yields, and leans in. Light glints off the grille if it’s sunny; wheels swish if there’s rain. Muscles flex with the spin of the wheel, an earring swings with the look up the lane. You know how the steering wheel pulls through the tube of your hand. Your eyes dart exactly the same way, gauging the distance. The pull of Gs is as great as the undertow or a mountain peak, but it’s right here, in your city, on your street, in that driver, who you’d help in need and who’d help you, too, red or blue.