There's something beautiful about these foggy summer mornings, the valleys filled with a candy floss of mist, our lane transformed into a stairway to mystery.
Trouble is, though, it always gives rise to one of my pet peeves - drivers who drive without their lights on. And there's no place on earth like Cattaraugus County for drivers driving without their lights on. More often than not in silver-grey coloured cars. I've tried flashing my lights at them but they don't understand. Flashing your lights here means you're warning someone that a police car is lying in wait around the next corner.
But this morning, as yet another culprit emerged, semi-invisible, out of the fog, I nearly flashed my lights. I was so exasperated that I even nearly honked my horn. Then a primeval instinct for self preservation suggested that perhaps I shouldn't do it. There was something about the odd-looking contraption stuck on the car's roof. Sure enough, as it went past, I saw the letters emblazoned on the side. SHERIFF. Phew.
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