The Frame is the Name of the Game
We are continually faced by great opportunities brilliantly disguised as insolvable problems.
We drove along Harrison Street toward police headquarters. The morning rush hour had subsided, but the cold cloudy day did little to dispel our frustration. I noticed some patches of black ice on the street. Phil was flooring the gas pedal. The speedometer approached eighty miles per hour. You can’t nail a cop for speeding!
“Slow down! Will you, Phil? Skidding into an oncoming car won’t do us any good.”
“Don’t worry, I know every bump on this street,” Phil said— but he eased back slightly on the gas. “Given the shift of the time between 5:00 and 9:00 on Sunday, where does it leave our suspects?”
I took ...