Well, well, well.
Look at you living life in the fire lane.
Yes, you came, you parked, you went over time, and you know it.
Now you’re scrambling out of the laundromat with a teetery stack of folded towels, racing out of the barber shop with a a freshly shorn neck, or running out of the arcades with severe Pac Man wrist and pizza grease on your face.
As you race up the street you can’t help braincloud the worst case scenario waiting for you: ticket blowing under wipers, heavy fine hitting your pocket, and a frumpy meter maid pursing her lips and wagging her finger at you while shaking her head.
When you get to the car you see the telltale signs: zeros flashing on the meter, tow trucks prowling the alleys, and those maids swimming upstreet like uniformed sharks with pens, pads, and perms. But as you examine your windshield you notice one big thing missing: the parking ticket itself.
Brother, there is no time for questions. Just double scan that windshield, crank your car into drive, and hit the gas to zoom fast and zoom furious straight outta town.
You made it.
AWESOME!
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