WHERE’S WALDO?: BATTERED PICKUP TRUCK EDITION
Since moving into the French Quarter a week prior, my short and fitful spurts of sleep had been punctuated with restless dreams of my truck being towed. I was sure I’d sooner or later forget about Tuesday and Thursdays street cleaning, earning a hefty towing bill. Because of this paranoia I had circled my truck twice Thursday night and returned Friday morning to ensure I wasn’t in violation of street signs or painted boundaries; thus, as I stood Sunday night around midnight looking at another car parked where I’d left my truck, neither option made sense—towing my legally parked vehicle or stealing my old and battered truck.
THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE: WHEN IT RAINS, IT POURS EDITION
I was certain of where I had parked but suspected police would question my memory, so I decided to canvas nearby streets on my bike. I raced home, sweating profusely and frantically muttering to myself, and quickly Googled the nearest police station (the other end of Royal) before taking off on two wheels. [Read more…]