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Free To Go
Like the demented circus clown booted up with chunky peanut butter I smile at police checkpoints. I have all my teeth, see.
I think there is now one law enforcement person for every 15 of us out here. A pocket knife stabbing murderous son-of-a-bitch is on the loose and has been for 6 days. Helicopters fly over, brown trooper cars speed by in reckless pursuit of a man on the run in an area that offers above average hiding potential.
Rumors abound, he's been spotted, there was a shootout, they got him boxed in down there at Gid Brown Hollow.
With a half dozen tequila shots and who knows what else coursing through my bloodstream last night I slow down at the checkpoint on Harris Hollow Road and squint through the flashlights shining in my face. Some of the murderer's teeth may be missing but I have all of mine. "We need to look in your vehicle sir." I understand. After glancing at the interior of the Jeep and finding me guilty of nothing more than being less than fastidious, I am given pardon. "You are free to go, sir."
Holy cow, the power of those words. Free to Go. Free to go where? and what should I do when I get there?