I am somewhere between a college campus with no people and a prison five miles away. Where would an escapee head to get the heck out of Dodge but the nearest tollbooth where someone has to stop and can be carjacked or killed for the car. That is not a question…. Then there are the speedway people who pull up behind me, like the one who did. It’s him and me. Him waiting, me trying to get my money in the slot and go. Me with my window down watching all sides of my vehicle. Please don’t get out and try to help me, mister, I will definitely crack the gate off with my Denali, don’t think I can’t. But he waited. A nice man I am sure, but I was scared.
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Forgive me if I am a bit cranky, but that is what the exotics pets said to me. The elder, smart-arsed cat said I am essentially a turnip. Rule number one with exotic pets, very old dogs and grandfather-like cats is to never break routine no matter how cold you are or unglamorous you look…. Do I hear the cat upchucking? Are the skunks in his food already? Oh man, lots of windows. Snowplow guy can see me. I cover my abundant bikini-clad arse with the not-large-enough blue dog bowl. Wade through skunks to get in the door. Shuffle through the kitchen with a pant leg dragging. No puke. No no, wait for it…