The man who lost it on a yellow box junction

"You idiot, move your car!" raged the mini-bus driver at the BMW in front.

No response.

"Move it!" screamed the young women in the Fiesta behind the mini-bus.

No response.

Only moments earlier a BMW had stopped suddenly right in the middle of a yellow box junction and was blocking traffic from all directions. It was also rush hour on a bright Tuesday morning.

Horns beeped and people shouted. A minute later, the mini-bus driver squeezed his way out of his seat and carried his large muscular frame over to the BMW. He banged on the window but the driver didn't respond. He banged again with his plate-sized fist - his face becoming crimson with rage. Still nothing. This time he grabbed the door handle and yanked it with such force that when the driver opened it at that very moment, it caused him to fly backwards into a heap on the road. Luckily he had a fair bit of fat covering his muscle to cushion the fall.

There was a silence and everything seemed to stop. Slowly the BMW driver got out of his car and closed the door. Everyone that could see him waited with baited breath. They waited for him to do something but he only looked dazed and confused. Seconds later and seemingly out of nowhere, the young woman from the Fiesta appeared at his side. She was ready to launch into him - give him a piece of her mind. But when she got up really close she sucked in her breath as she realised who he was.

"Aren't you that Mr Jones from work? The big boss, the, um what d'you call it, chief executor?" she asked. He slowly turned his head to look at her and frowned. Realising she meant to say chief executive he nodded his head then let it hang as if it was too heavy for his neck.

On observing his pale face, she declared, "Oh my god Mr Jones, you look ill. Like really pale. You should, like, sit down or somethink." And Mr Jones did just that; he sat down crossed legged on the road.

The mini-bus driver was back on his feet with the help of some of the other drivers that had congregated around the scene. They all watched Mr Jones as if they had nothing better to do. But the mini-bus driver was embarrassed from his fall and getting hot. So, to draw attention to himself and to cool down, he decided to take off his t-shirt exposing a large tattoo of the tasmanian devil cartoon character. The tattoo stretched across his enormous chest and had his name scribed beneath it - Tez the devil.

Meanwhile, Stacey had knelt down next to Mr Jones on the road.

"My name is Stacey, " she proclaimed. She went to shake his hand but realised it wasn't the right moment for that. Instead, and absurdly, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "There, you take it easy. Blimey, your suit is soft Mr Jones, I bet that cost a lot..." she stopped when she saw he was crying. Shocked and excited, Stacey announced to the crowd, "Oh my god, he's crying!" An array of oohs and ahhhs came from the crowd.

Stacey kicked off her high heeled sandals and ruched up her short skirt so that she could get more comfortable. She shifted around a bit until she settled into a cross legged position fulling exposing her polkadot knickers to the crowd. She barely considered her dignity; her attention was devoted to Mr Jones. She leaned into him and whispered gently, even cupping her hands over his ear. To some of the newer onlookers it appeared as if there had been a lovers tiff and she was trying to lure him back into the car. Unfortunately for Stacey, she didn't get the reaction she'd hoped for - Mr Jones let himself slide to the ground and curled up into a foetal position. Stacey was horrified, not because of what he did but her plan hadn't worked. How could her plan not work? It always worked before; she had a way with men. She felt humiliated and jumped up grabbing her sandals before storming back to her car.

For a good two minutes nothing changed; Mr Jones lay there and the other drivers stared, fixated as if it was a road kill. The traffic was really building up now and an orchestra of horns was permeating the suburbs of Leamington Spa.

Stacey marched back onto the scene in her bare feet. She stood over Mr Jones and nudged him aggressively with her toes.

"I don't think you know how lucky you are Mr Jones. You have everything, you do. Nice car, nice wife. Yeh, that's right, I met your wife at the christmas do last year, she's well lovely. And I bet you have a big house. And you got two kids. Do you think you're special? Causing all this fuss, making people late for work..." she stopped when Tez the devil came over and joined in.

"She's right, you know, you don't know how lucky you are, you ponsy..." Tez was cut short by a tiny woman who pushed him out the way.

"Wait! Wait! Hold on. Is it? It can't be. Let me see. Oh dear. Yes. Oh dear. Oh dear. It's him," confirmed the woman whose white hair was so thick and so wild it made her look much older than her middle-aged complexion. She stood over Mr Jones and prodded him with her brolly as if she was inspecting slugs in her garden.

"Who are you!" hissed Tez the devil.

"Well, I shouldn't say really, it's confidential." She looked back up at the crowd - her eyes were darting around like an over excited child. She was wearing an ill-fitting rain coat that made her look like a wacky scientist.

"Confidential?" Tez persisted.

"I'm...I'm his psychotherapist," she looked at her watch, "I'm going to be late. You know, he's a good man deep down, beneath it all. Oh dear. This just won't do," she looked at her watch again, "I'm going to be late, has anyone called the police, or an ambulance?"

Everyone in the crowd looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then, a couple of people took out their mobile phones and began to dial.

"Look Mrs, shouldn't you talk to him? I mean, if you're his psycho-thing?" insisted Tez. He was thrusting his meaty chest towards her threateningly. "Sounds to me like it's your fault anyway, if you're his whats-it therapist, so sort it out love!"

"Oh, no. I mean, technically I'm his ex-psychotherapist. I told him I wouldn't treat him anymore once he told me about all the fraud."

"Really? Fraud?" interjected Stacey. "What like laundering money and stuff?"

"Like I said, I'm not meant to say..." the psychotherapist paused and looked around sheepishly. Then she leaned toward Stacey and talked quietly as if gossiping, "he's a good man really, I don't think he meant to get caught up in it. But I couldn't treat him after that, I have a reputation you know!"

Police sirens rose up in the distance.

Stacey took a change of heart towards Mr Jones and she lay down next to him on the road and spooned him. She stroked his hair and whispered again in his ear.

"You'll be alright, you will, " she said. The crowd watched on.

"Yes. Well. Anyway. I really must be going, I'll miss my next appointment." And with that the white-haired woman trotted off, her frumpy court shoes slipping off her heels as she went.

The sirens were very close now.

"I can see the police, they're walking this way." Tez told Stacey.

She stood up and adjusted her skirt. "He just needed to know that people really care about him." she said.

"But you were yelling at him a minute ago."

"Yes, I suppose I was, wasn't I?" Stacey frowned and strained to think back to only moments earlier.

"Hey, by the way I like your knickers." Tez stopped immediately after he realised what he said.

Stacey screwed up her face in disgust.

"I mean your legs. No, I mean your eyes, you've got nice eyes." His chest glistened with more sweat and he was panting a little.

Her face softened. "Really? You like my eyes?"

"Yeh, actually you're beautiful. A bit mad. But beautiful."

Tez and Stacey had a moment - they looked into each other eyes.

"Right. What's going on here?" beamed a policeman looking around.

"Oh. Yeh. Well, um, that guy there, " said Stacey pointing at Mr Jones, "he lost it, completely lost it. We tried to help and everythink, really we did. But some people are just past treating and all that, aren't they?"