smokey and the bandit
the last ticket from the georgia highway patrol was only a few hours old.
89mph in a 70zone it read. carbon copy yellow hidden discretely in my cd wallet
sure it hurt to think about it. the fine that insued. the court date. the cold stare of the road aged officer as i came strollin out my car with
yankee tags and a dirty Red Wings tshirt on. he fucked me. no talkin him out of it. no apathy for a broke college kid
the 20 mark in my wallet has sent for no reinforcements, left to hold his own against
my remarkably lax spending habits. all this and mary on my mind as i raced back down
75. it was late, window down, and my smokes burning up quicker than gas in the 2.2liter, straight 4cylinder
engine of my new whip. the stearing has too much slack, no cruise control, no odometer, no race, no acceleration.
standard 1993 chevy cavalier, a fisher body, and the run-of-the-mill teal blue paint with the michigan tags,
on a lonely highway in the middle of alligator alley a car has no choice but to speed. faster and faster until youve
left the isolated wasteland of the everglades in your dust. no remorse, no scenery, no lights, a dark highway.
so when you pass a white cruiser parked in the median you know you've got got. i saw him, cursed and gunned it, glaring into
that rear view mirror with a little yellow smiley face sticker that winks at you. yea hes after me. yea its a long 136 mile track,
but i passed him at 90. gotta noteworthy lead,
i got one chance to make it and ill be damned if i pass it up.
i fly into the next pack of cars, weave in and out and mush
until im through,
got one mile till the seminole reservation, the only exit on this stretch, ive made this a couple times.
run up the exit ramp, and as i glance back ill be damned if i dont see
that cruiser comin up after me on the same ramp. peel into the gas station at the far end of the overpass. park and buy a pack of cigarettes.
that cop wheels around watches me park and sets off back the way he came.
i walk out the BP station a minute later smakin a pack of smokes against my palm. head pounding, half expect that cruiser to be parked next to mine.
well this is it i thought i see it just outside the station waitin for me on the on ramp lights on, engine warm.
hes thinkin i cant go north cause its 30 miles to the next turnaround.
but im a stickler for gettin around fines. and gas is cheaper than a ticket so i blast north as a blue mazda makes for the south ramp.
the cop was too excited. too anxious to write my scrappy little ass up. his flashers are on and that innocent mazda is stuck.
it was with a smile that i looked back through my mirror. watching those fucking blue strobe lights illuminate a football field sized area of highway.
well the futures uncertain and the end is always near i say. i slowed and down, back up and through the median a mile north.
i got home a half hour past my ETA.
ill ask for money this X-mas.
fuck the police man.
89mph in a 70zone it read. carbon copy yellow hidden discretely in my cd wallet
sure it hurt to think about it. the fine that insued. the court date. the cold stare of the road aged officer as i came strollin out my car with
yankee tags and a dirty Red Wings tshirt on. he fucked me. no talkin him out of it. no apathy for a broke college kid
the 20 mark in my wallet has sent for no reinforcements, left to hold his own against
my remarkably lax spending habits. all this and mary on my mind as i raced back down
75. it was late, window down, and my smokes burning up quicker than gas in the 2.2liter, straight 4cylinder
engine of my new whip. the stearing has too much slack, no cruise control, no odometer, no race, no acceleration.
standard 1993 chevy cavalier, a fisher body, and the run-of-the-mill teal blue paint with the michigan tags,
on a lonely highway in the middle of alligator alley a car has no choice but to speed. faster and faster until youve
left the isolated wasteland of the everglades in your dust. no remorse, no scenery, no lights, a dark highway.
so when you pass a white cruiser parked in the median you know you've got got. i saw him, cursed and gunned it, glaring into
that rear view mirror with a little yellow smiley face sticker that winks at you. yea hes after me. yea its a long 136 mile track,
but i passed him at 90. gotta noteworthy lead,
i got one chance to make it and ill be damned if i pass it up.
i fly into the next pack of cars, weave in and out and mush
until im through,
got one mile till the seminole reservation, the only exit on this stretch, ive made this a couple times.
run up the exit ramp, and as i glance back ill be damned if i dont see
that cruiser comin up after me on the same ramp. peel into the gas station at the far end of the overpass. park and buy a pack of cigarettes.
that cop wheels around watches me park and sets off back the way he came.
i walk out the BP station a minute later smakin a pack of smokes against my palm. head pounding, half expect that cruiser to be parked next to mine.
well this is it i thought i see it just outside the station waitin for me on the on ramp lights on, engine warm.
hes thinkin i cant go north cause its 30 miles to the next turnaround.
but im a stickler for gettin around fines. and gas is cheaper than a ticket so i blast north as a blue mazda makes for the south ramp.
the cop was too excited. too anxious to write my scrappy little ass up. his flashers are on and that innocent mazda is stuck.
it was with a smile that i looked back through my mirror. watching those fucking blue strobe lights illuminate a football field sized area of highway.
well the futures uncertain and the end is always near i say. i slowed and down, back up and through the median a mile north.
i got home a half hour past my ETA.
ill ask for money this X-mas.
fuck the police man.