F ifty drivers on the road 48 of them going faster than me and yet a glimpse of blue and red flashing lights signals my brain that it’s my tail the cops are after.
I have no scary police stories to relate. I was never arrested never witnessed an arrest and in the 32 years I’ve been behind the wheel I’ve been pulled over exactly twice. But to me sirens represent authority looking over my shoulder. Big Brother. And I’m intensely allergic to that. So the police and I have had a non-relationship in which we stay out of each other’s way.
Parked in front of Retorno’s administrative offices one day was a large white van with telltale blue stripes. The lights weren’t flashing but it was impossible to miss the very police-ness of it.
A teenage boy approached the offices. Hands and feet cuffed he was flanked by three police officers. This kid must have really been bad news. Fear and curiosity prompted me to approach Nati a counselor who was showing three teenage residents how to trim hedges.
