This story is based on something that happened over the weekend, though luckily it didn't go like this. Maybe that's one of the good things about writing these stories - we can see what could have happened, and remember not to do that.
by Dan Schwartz
I wanted to live in the land of bad decisions. In order to live in the land of bad decisions, you have to make some bad decisions.
I was doing 95 when I saw the flashing lights of a police car ahead, all white and red and blue, and I slowed down and moved to the side of the road. I got my registration out from the glove compartment and waited as the cop walked over to my driver's side window. I rolled it down as he shined a light in my face.
"State trooper, can I see your license?" he said. I handed them to him. He looked them over, unhappily.
"Do you know how fast you were doing?" he said. The voice was like that of your least favorite uncle, disappointed again.
"70?" I say. Five miles over the speed limit doesn't seem too bad.
"97," he says. "In a 65 area. What are you going so fast for?" He did not really care about the answer, so I didn't either.
He went back to his car to take down my information. That's when I decided, fuck it. Who gives a good damn.
I opened the door and stepped out of my vehicle. I started to walk away. "Sir!" he said, going for his gun. "Get back in the car!"
"Fuck it," I said. "Take the car, go and impound it. And fuck you and your fucking shit, too." I turned and headed down the road.
It was a cool night and I didn't know what I should do. I thought I should try hitchhiking, maybe, or, hey, just walking back on my own, even though it would take another hour. Then the cop came up from behind me and pinned me to the ground, putting his knee directly above my heart and tying my hands behind my back. "Asshole," I tried to say, though the breath had literally been knocked out of me. "Way to fuck up a good evening."