Thursday, August 30, 2007
I should've gotten one, and I didn't. I'm dying for a fucking cigarette. Since I was fifteen and a half with a learner's permit in the San Fernando Valley, I've talked---yes TALKED---my way out of---a dozen tickets at least. So the pure irony when tonight, at age 39, way past nubile and pouty, I was pulled over for doing 50 in the 25 zone, and the docile and doe-eyed act [I was too drunk to properly speak] is the one that worked. No flashlights in eyes. No stand up out of the car. Just a long wait and receipt of a faux ticket issued as "warning"---I don't have to go to court or pay any money. And a fatherly suggestion that the pink slip [which I handed over thinking it was the registration] be stowed "in a jewelry box, or at the bank, somewhere safe." Fuck the motherfucking Oakland police. I love the police.