I am writing to you as I stand in line at the DMV. I've been here for
over an hour. The man in front of me smells of cigarette smoke and
cheese. The woman behind me is talking nonstop on her iPhone. Why am I
waiting here in the DMV? My license is expired. The state claims they
sent me the renewal forms but I never got them. Maybe one of the kids
on my block took it out of the mailbox. Maybe the mailman hates his
life and hates his job and hates me so he purposely threw that letter
away. Whatever the case, I'd been driving for two months with an
expired license. Doesn't seem like a big deal, I know, but last week I
got pulled over for speeding. Apparently I was doing 32 mph in a 25
zone. As you can imagine, things didn't go smoothly. The cop was a
jerk about it. Maybe it was because of what my bumper
sticker said. My
car's used, and the bumper sticker came with it. I never would have
chosen it myself, but it was there and I never got around to pulling
it off. And the sticker, it wasn't really that offensive. Not until
somebody took a black Sharpie marker and changed the wording a bit. I
don't know when it happened but it had to have happened recently.
Shoot, I'm running out of space. I'll call you later.
- - -
Read RS's story, "Phantom Energy."
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