Thoughts!Non-ThoughtsThoughts
| Walk the Line[1999-01-27]A step. And then another. He lifted his left foot. Put it down a bit in front of the other. Lifted his right foot. Staggered a little. Put it down. Lifted his left foot. And fell to the asphalt. Got up again. Shook off those hands that tried to stop him from trying the same thing again. Then he lifted his right foot. Put it down. Lifted the left foot. Repeated the procedure. Twice, to be sure. He couldn't quite figure why he had to do all of this, though. You never drive better than with a couple of drinks cheering up the old mind, at least, that was what his old man had told him. He walked over staggering to the hood of the patrol car. Did the normal routine. He knew about such things. He'd seen all the movies about the high-way patrols you could come up with. And the TV series too. He knew them coppers, all right. They'd have him sign his name, and then he'd be given his keys back. And be able to continue driving, minding his own business. "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us to the station, sir." His stomach fell down to his toes. At least it felt that way. And his brain took a quick visit down where his lungs used to be located. Something was terribly wrong here. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? After all, drinking and driving wasn't something they could have objections against, now could they? |
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