Ok, back to my story. So after the fine phone call that started my Friday, I go up to the office to let the secretaries know that a representative of our city’s finest might be paying me a visit. First they think I’m joking, they they start razzing me, “Cops comin’ for you again Coward?” “Same same since seventh grade.” “What?” It was 1974, and I was late for school. I hate being late. For anything. Even school, even then. I was riding my bike as usual, and in 1974, we didn’t wear helmets, let alone worry about which side of the road we were riding on, and we thought stop signs were for cars and losers. Today, the road I was on the wrong side of is 4 lanes wide, and the light I ran controls one of the busiest intersections (the cross street is 6 lanes now) in my old hometown. Back then, it was a mere 2 lanes (plus the turn lane) I was crossing against the light. I got across without a care, though that was probably because I didn’t look. I was looking a block ahead, and I could see them lining up outside in


