Operation Fluid.

Brendan sighed loudly. This was anything but fluid. More like stuck. Nothing was moving. Even the grass on the side of the road wasn't fluttering. This was Drumcondra on the Saturday before Christmas. This was the last trip into town to get the last few items.

Obviously, there were others thinking along the same lines. Plenty of others. The smell of car fumes and frustration filled the chilly December air. The only thing that moved faster than those on the pavement were bicycles and motorbikes. Brendan scratched at a jelly stain on his jeans.

Everything moved in slow motion today. Queues were everywhere, everyone seemed to be in a rush somewhere and children cried and laughed in equal measure. You'd know it was Christmas week - the sense of panic among parents was almost palpable.

Temperatures in cars were rising around him, even though the weather outside was heading in the opposite direction. The news report on the radio stated that accidents were happening all over the city, due to black ice. The Garda name for good traffic flow during the Christmas period was now becoming laughable.

Brendan was effectively parked for the past twenty minutes. He shut off the engine. He chewed on his nails. He flicked through the messages on his phone. He called home, but his wife couldn't talk because the kids had her busy.

Nothing was moving on the outside lane. The bus lane on his left wasn't much better. Brendan wiped the condensation from his car windows. He liked people watching - it was a past time that he sometimes enjoyed. He was a patient man. He used to try and attach a name to the characters he watched.

The first car he looked at with interest was on his right and slightly forward of his location. It held a solitary man. He stared forward with a sad face. He looked drained. He wore a beige raincoat and tan driving gloves.  Brendan guessed this man's name might be something like Timothy.

Moving on from Timothy, he looked directly in front. A mother and her two kids - one boy about nine or ten and a younger girl of about three. She sat in a car seat while he played games on a phone or something. The Mum, who Brendan christened Martha, was on her phone constantly. She seemed like she was arguing with someone. Her window was cracked open a touch and Brendan heard the words "turkey for fourteen." She was going to be busy this holiday season.

He looked left. He had a double decker bus parked within five feet of his passenger door. The bus was packed and toxic fumes plumed from it's exhaust. Their windows were well fogged up, unless one passenger wiped it, to see out. A young lady peered out of her wiped circle on the bottom deck.

She was pretty, and probably was called something like Elaine. She wore a warm red buttoned jacket with shoulder length brown curly hair. Her head bounced along to the music pumping in her ears. She was entertained, despite the humdrum of the situation. She looked happy.

Looking upstairs, a small window open let in some cold air. Brendan could see multiple passengers. A young man in an ill fitting suit, sat with his head against the glass. He was sound asleep. Drool oozed from his mouth and it seemed to creep out the lady with the black bobbled hat beside him.

Moving further along the window toward the front of the bus, he spotted a young couple cleaning each others teeth. With their pierced tongues. Like a washing machine on rinse. They seemed oblivious to everyone around them. They were no more than fifteen or sixteen years old, with their entire lives ahead of them.

At the front of the bus, Brendan could barely make out the side of a man's face. He had thick black hair and was chatting constantly on his phone. He wore too much gel in his hair and some of it stuck to the glass when his hair rubbed off it. He laughed and gesticulated a lot with his hands. Was he Italian, perhaps? A name like Roberto. A scream interrupted his daydream.

Then a horn blared behind him. The traffic was inching forward. Then another blast of multiple horns, these far more impatient. The man on his right wasn't moving. The impatient git behind Timothy was waving his hands like a madman.

Except Timothy wasn't moving. His head slumped forward against the steering wheel, sending out a constant blast of noise.

Brendan inched his car forward and then pulled his handbrake up. Racing out of his car he reached Timothy's driver door in seconds. Yanking open the door, Timothy's right arm slumped out into the cold air. Brendan checked for a pulse while other motorists blared their horns, not realising what was going on.

Brendan pulled his mobile from his pants pocket and dialled 999. No emergency service was going to reach this man quickly. Beaumont Hospital was nearby, as was the Mater Hospital. His pulse was weak but thready. He had a chance. But he needed immediate medical attention.

Like a knight in shining armour, a single light came moving toward him. Brendan risked his own life standing in front of the moving object. The high visibility jacket gave away the incoming Garda. A motorbike could get through this madness.

Stopping the Garda, he ran through a quick plan. Taking Timothy on the back of the bike wasn't an option. The Garda had to clear a path. Brendan parked his own car on the path, off the road.

Moving Timothy with the assistance of other motorists, who now had stopped bleating their horns into the backseat, was difficult. But they managed it. And then they turned back toward the city, away from the flow of stranded cars and buses.

Timothy received his Christmas miracle - from a stranger called Brendan and because of an Operation that was anything but Fluid.