So here's how it went down:
I'm on a Delta Song flight from JFK to SFO. The plane is mostly packed. I'm towards the rear. Although it's around dinner time, the lights are dimmed, and most of the passengers are asleep.
I did it; I sold my baby. She's gone now, gone forever. Sniff.
It's a very emotional decision, you know, to sell one's baby. There are attachment issues, breaking that bond of love, saying goodbye. Not to mention accurate pricing and market demand.
I had a good excuse for running the red light: it was late at night, I didn't see any cars around, and I was driving too fast to slow down in time.
The cop who blazed his lights didn't seem to agree. He pulled me over and strutted towards me, with a hand on his gun.
Jayne was in the passenger seat. She peered in the rearview mirror and adjusted her bangs. I fished my wallet out and turned to her. "Don't worry, I've been pulled over before and usually get off with a warning."
We knew we were in trouble as soon as we stepped out of the woods.
Two policemen stood there, arms crossed. In our arms would have been a case of beer, but fortunately, we spotted them moments before and hid the case.
"Are you carrying any drugs or weapons?"
"No sir. Just camping gear. We just came back from Shenandoah."
"Right." The police officer turned to my friends in the car. "Okay boys, get out of the car."
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA