This morning on the way to the farmers’ market from my optometrist’s, where I dropped several hundred dollars on new specs and sunglasses owing to the good news that my eyes have improved so much than I need a new prescription, I caught the attention of a handsome motorcycle cop with too much time on his hands by performing a U-turn across a double yellow stripe.
I fear that my generously waving him ahead before I pulled the turn was misinterpreted as a form of arrogance rather than courtesy. So having nothing better to do, the cop elected to perform a U-turn himself and swoop upon me.
My fervent prayer that a masked man would choose this moment to run out of the bank next door holding in one hand a sack and in the other a gun which he was firing over his shoulder came, like all of my prayers, to naught. My pointing out to the cop that we had both performed U-turns was not taken well, and he issued me an invitation I could not refuse to a special meeting at the Hall of Justice.
Actually, his personal belief, which he articulated in what I felt was a gratuitously judgmental tone and also recorded on the ticket, was that my particular turn was an especially egregious example of one of the forbidden sorts.
When I eventually got to the market, Poli Yerena told me that I can expect justice to be dispensed at a cost of approximately two hundred bucks, his son having recently had a similar infraction. Surely he exaggerates. I mean, dude, the whole thing was over in five seconds…the turn, that is.
In any case, I lucked out at the market. This has not been a good year for tayberries, but Yerena’s pitiful crop has hung on for a few more days, and I grabbed a flat. I boiled ’em down with the pulp of an apple and the juice of a lemon, and they’re draining in a sieve while I write this.
Here’s a device on Sanchez Street that I found interesting:
