The Slow Stretch
Short Story Day 64 of 365
The muscle car roared up the 45 mph, half-mile straight away. It was never intended to be a speedway or race track, but the locals knew a good stretch of road when they saw one.
And they knew when and how to use it.
The non-locals, however, didn’t and a full quarter of the City’s revenue was from fines on that stretch of road.
After Jim Jackson, a retiree from a neighboring suburb, got pulled over going seven miles an hour over the limit, he was stunned.
$350 plus 3 points against his license.
“Let it go, Jim,” his wife had to tell him several times the week after. “Pay them and never go there again.”
Even though he said, “Ok,” each time, she knew he didn’t mean it.
Six days after Jackson sent in the fine, he said, “Honey, I’ll be gone all day. Here’s my lawyer’s number if you need it. You shouldn’t but just in case. I think I have a mission in life now. It’ll teach them to mess with an old retired sign maker.”
After Jackson left, his wife looked at his sign stencil and his words made a little more sense: Speed Trap Ahead
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