So, Wednesday night, really late, one in the morning, I’m on my way home. I’m driving up 580, just before Oakland, and the pretty lights start flashing in my rearview. So, I put on the turn signal, and I move over to the shoulder, the voice of god tells me to go up to the next off ramp and leave the freeway, and once I comply with that decree, insists that I pull into an empty dark parking lot. I pull in, shut off the engine, roll down my window, reach for the insurance/registration in the glove box, and there’s a tap on the passenger window, so I roll that down, too. I think that I must have been speeding, but I learn that that is not the problem. Why was I drifting into the other lane? Well, sir with gun, I am tired. Where was I coming from, where am I headed to, and have I been drinking? Just A beer, many hours ago. Yes, with dinner. Yes I can do a test. No, I don’t necessarily need my glasses. Indeed I can step out of the car. Cannabis? What’s that? Oh no, not in quite some time. My pulse, yes. I’m afraid to tell you that you’re squeezing to tight, and it hurts, so I’ll just hold my breath until it’s over. It has to be over soon; I haven’t done anything. Pulse is racing, well, that makes sense. I’m a girl in a dark parking lot in the middle of the night with two gun toting men. No, I don’t get pulled over often. No, I didn’t take anything else with the beer. I am, in fact, very tired. Yes, I am awake now. I am going right now. Thank you, and you have a nice evening, too.
