Strange

So there we are, rolling down some highway in south Georgia, on our way to Macon, the site of Duane Allman's death, and the sirens come suddenly, as they usually do. A few days prior a guy at a music store in North Carolina warned us the cops down here will pull you over for no reason. Just give them a reason and they'll lock you up. With that in mind, we waited for the officer to waddle to the van. Portly and Eagle Scout-ish modeling some killer Raybans, he spoke in an accent that would probably be subtitled on reality TV. "Hello, I'm Officer Strange. Pennsylvania, huh? You boys are a long way from home" (cops always say this) We present the needed identification and he waddles back to the car to run it. Thankfully there's no weed or whatnot in the van so we're not really sweating bullets. He comes back, this time on the passenger side, and asks us what in tarnation we're doing down here. We explain we're a traveling band and on our way to Macon for a "gig". He becomes very friendly and mumbles some story about how he pulled over Merle Haggard once. Apparently Merle was sleeping in the backseat and his assistant was driving. Officer Strange took a picture of Merle sleeping.
We always keep a few of our CD's up front to give to cops and whatnot. Apparently he didn't hear me say "Here, I'll get you a CD" I reach into the glovebox and Strange stiffens up and shouts "HEY, WHAT'S HE REACHING FOR" My hands stop rummaging. I'm not getting capped over this. "One of our CD's", I tell him. "I can't accept that", he says, "but if you drop it on the ground, what's to stop me from picking it up?" I drop it out the window. He picks it up and proceeds to give us detailed directions to Macon, though I'm holding the GPS in my hands. We were speeding, according to Officer Strange, but he doesn't bother giving us a ticket and sends us on our way with a smile.
I wonder what Merle Haggard looks like sleeping in the backseat of a DaeWoo? Probably like an angel.
Later,
Mark