Monday's Fiction in 58

Fiction in 58. A creation of my own mind to practice the art of brevity. One story, 58 words. Poof.

Traffic
This is what happens, he thinks, just before four demons on horseback show up.
He’s sequestered in a luxury sedan, violently rubbing a gold coin. He’s nearly rubbed it smooth. His angst a bile, rising like a sickness.
They’re out to get me, he thinks.
They’re all conspirators.
He checks the locks, pockets the coin, guns the engine.