“Let’s see,” the small-town, slow-talking cop said as he stood outside my window.
It doesn’t matter if he was slow talking, fast-talking, or a deaf mute—cops intimidate me.
“Looks like you were doing about sixty-seven in a fifty-five mile-per-hour zone. Well, I suppose I’ll have to write you up.”
Whatever. Just hurry up so I can get back on the road and out of this humiliating moment sitting here in my car hanging out with you.
I can’t believe it, I grumbled to myself as he returned to his patrol car to write me up. Almost twenty years without a ticket and here I am. I mean, really, I would have hit the twenty-year mark in another year or so.
“Okay, I’m just gonna make it sixty-five instead ...