In rush-hour traffic, with Ricky Martin howling from the radio and our shaded eyes able to see nothing but dead cars ahead, it is always a relief to spot the exit-only sign for Windsor. Among all those cranky straight arrows shooing us off the freeway, a wide circle symbolizes the deep sloping turn ahead. Soon it will swing us smoothly beneath MoPac, sending us from the mire of stalled traffic into quiet neighborhood streets. And Ricky Martin? He too shall pass.
