A normal residential road, cars parked either side, and a 20 miles per hour speed limit enforced by signs and re-enforced by speed
bumps.
bumps. I look right and left, see nothing, but hear the screaming engine and decide to wait. The two delicately balanced trays, full of sandwiches, aren't worth risking for the few extra seconds I decide to wait as the car appears round a corner, probably doubling the speed allowed on this road.
No more than ten paces to my right is one of the speed bumps, and the engine is slowed through the gears so that the lowered suspension has every chance of making it over without the raised hump of traffic-calming tarmac causing any damage to the precious undercarriage.
In those seconds, they see me, and the sandwiches.
And as they arrive beside me, they stop.
"Any of those for us?" asks the passenger, a giggly, over made-up and unrestrained girl of probably 18.
"Only if you and your friend buckle up and promise not to drive around like idiots", I reply.
They look at each other, and laugh.
"Nah", says the passenger, "we're not really that hungry!"
Their raucous laughter is soon drowned out by their tyres, as they screech their way down the road.
2 comments:
Who were the sandwiches for I wonder?
What was in the sandwiches? That is the question. Weather tis nobler in the mind to bear the cheese and pickle of irate ambulancemen or too take snacks against a sea of advice.
That's bad. Sorry.
Post a Comment