Dec 17 2007
Car Trouble
Sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m lying on the couch reading a frivolous novel, though I should be unpacking. But I’ve adopted a Scarlett O’Hara attitude to the maze of boxes today; I’ll think about them tomorrow.
I’m startled from the peaceful perusal of the pages by a loud knocking on the door. Opening it, I see a huge gentleman in his Sunday best, hat in hand. “Ma’am, that your car?” he asks, gesturing to the driveway. “Yes,” I whisper. He puts something in my hand. “Left your keys in the door. I seen ’em on my way to church.” “Thank you,” I say. “Welcome. Bless you,” he says, and goes on his way, putting his hat back on.
And in the continuing adventures of the car…
I went to the store this morning to get a baguette for breakfast. On my way home, my head full of thoughts of creamy Brie on fresh bread with crisp green apples and hot, black coffee, I got a ticket.
I was thirty feet from my house – I could see it – and I apparently didn’t come to a complete stop at the stop sign in front of the church.
The cop car is still there, mocking me.
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