Driving today, I saw an older man who had pulled to the side of the road. He was bent over one of those car window flags you see so often these days. It was lying in the dirt on the side of the road. The license plate on the back of his 2002-3 Buick Park Ave. indicated he was a WWII veteran. I caught a glimpse of him just as he was bending over, with more than a bit of effort, to retrieve the flag from the dirt. As I passed him, I was thinking that small act was really quite poignant. I won’t bore you with just exactly how poignant I thought it was, lest you think I may also wish to prattle away about patriotism lost. I won’t. However, I will ask you, would you have done it? Or, even thought to do it?
Next, I saw a mid-eighties Monte Carlo SS. The rear leaf springs were fatigued and sagging from years of hard acceleration. There was a large dogs head poking from the partially rolled down passenger-side window. Since I drove near the car for several miles, I saw him stomp the gas at each light change and slam that poor dogs head into the rear pillar of that car. Over and over. The guy never noticed that he was beating the dog half to death. What’s more, the dog never figured out that it might happen again. Again, I’ll spare you the trite analogies and metaphors. But, are guys in aged Monte Carlos, with mullets and wooden speakers in the back required to own a Rottweiler in this part of the country?
Finally, after a long day of rain, it let up and cleared up slightly. The roads were slightly damp and the wannabe hot-rodders were taking advantage of the semi-slick road surface to help them squeal their tires. First a large van, like mine, did it. Then a mini-van did it (!?). Finally, as if the coup de gras for a fine evening of wishful testosterone induced thinking, a Ford Focus did it. All in the small window that I pumped gas. Since gas prices are rather low here at $1.39 a gallon, I guess there’s gas, tires and oil to spare.
Ah, the things you see while motoring in Flint.