Wears The Pants

It looked like a fight. Henry had gotten out of his car, one in a line of a honking seven, and ran up to the four-way intersection. "What the hell's going on here?" It had looked like a fight, but was instead a series of drivers of varying ages dancing and poke-pointing with their arms, who all turned to his voice, regained their composure, and began to walk away. "Wait, wait," Henry called. "Stop!" They turned around in hopeful expectation. He had yet to see the sign.

Link.