We had a cops-style lunch today, my friend Lesley and I…we were at Rally’s. It’s a place we don’t usually frequent during the work lunch, but we were craving cheese burgers.

We had just gotten our food and were sitting outside at one of the red round tables. It was the first nice day we’ve had in weeks where your skin didn’t melt off when you stepped outside. We were stuffing those orange, yummy, grease-laden fries into our mouths. Needless to say, we weren’t talking much. Too busy eating.

Suddenly we hear the “whoop-whoop” of a cops short siren, you know the one that says, “Hey you’re in trouble but we don’t want to wake up the neighborhood.”

We turn to our right, and right there in the parking lot before us is a police car behind another car. It was two guys that were in line right behind us. They didn’t even get to open their bags and begin to eat. Instead, they were trapped in their maroon-colored Buick sedan-looking car, looking behind them, and smelling their quickly cooling lunches with dismay.

Lesley and I looked at each other. We looked at the ground under the picnic table. Should we duck? Would there be shots fired? Had the ghetto moved in closer than we thought?

Hunger prevailed. We decided we’d worry about if any violence started.

The strange thing is…
This is the second time this year that strange things have happened at that Rally’s. Last time I went there, about 6 months ago, I was attacked by a crazy dog with scary owners. I’d tell that whole story now, but I think this post is getting long. Let’s just say I have a scar to show for it.

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