I left the office early Friday.
The beauty of flexible scheduling.
I drove around town with my windows down and the wind whipping my hair in my eyes. This is probably illegal, or at least a bad idea, but after seeing what I saw Thursday, I'm not too worried.
Thursday, I spied a man on a motorcycle. He was easy to see since he pulled out in front of me.
Guess what he was busy doing? Yep. Talking on a cellphone - did I mention he was riding as in driving a motorcycle - one of those things with two wheels and no protective aluminum or fiberglass shell?
While still on the phone, after pulling out in front of me, he turned into a grocery store parking lot.
This was impressive.
Maybe he's got one of those new "look, Ma! No hands!" motorcycles. He didn't use his turn signal. I suppose he didn't want to upset his equilibrium.
While I drove Friday with the whipping frenzy of my hair and bits of grit from the street exfoliating my face, I noticed something else that bugged me.
Bugs me - in present tense -- almost every time I drive past.
Someone built a huge luxury mansion on the top of one of our town's many hills. They installed gates over the driveway and graveled the banks on either side of the gates. A worker, a landscape artist no doubt, painstakingly smoothed the pinkish gravel into a flat sea of weed-free yard and then crafted a perfect six foot letter.
A gravel monogram.
But this was over a year ago, and shortly after this artistic and tasteful yard-styling, someone or something knocked some of the white gravel outside of it's little barrier and the huge letter now has a blurry growth.
There is a wart on the monogram. A hairy wart. And no one has fixed it.
Do you suppose I could be arrested for trespassing if I sneak over some night and repair it?
Hey, maybe they are trying to capture an anal-retentive Sasquatch. I hadn't thought of that.
