Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The girl, the cop and the grievous angel

Perhaps fueled by the warm wind through the truck windows whipping my hair asunder, or by the memory of Jeff Tweedy sporting that Nudie Suit on Saturday night, I popped "Gram Parsons Archive, Vol. 1: Live at the Avalon Ballroom 1969" into the CD player again. What a great record. Perfect for a sunset drive.

So I pull up to the stoplight singing, music blaring, and one of St. Louis City's finest pulls up along side. Oh, shit. What did I do now? Seatbelt. Check. Full stop. Check. Anything in the car that shouldn't be? Nope. I'm still singing and I do the sidelong glance. The officer is giving me a wave, but the cherries are not on. I look over and smile, hoping for the best as his shaded gaze met mine. Early 30's, looking like a Marine on leave, he smiles back. "Burrito Brothers..." he nods his approval, "All right!" The light turns, he gives a little salute-like wave and is off.

What the hell was that?
Dumbfounded, I hit the accelerator. More, please.

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