And you know how I know that I'm getting old?
For the last two or three hours, these two neighborhood kids have been driving their cars up and down our quiet, residential cul-de-sac. One's a moderately riced-up Honda, the other's a Chevy Cavalier with a busted ("gutsy-sounding") muffler. Every once in a while, they'll goose it and dash to the end of the street at top speed...on a street where lots of kids live and play. If I went to fetch the mail, and Quinn dashed out of the house behind me, he'd get turned into road pizza before those teenage morons would be able to brake their shitboxes, and then I'd be going to jail for a very long time.
Anyhow, I know I'm getting old because I've had an almost irrepressible urge to step out into the street, make them stand on the brakes, and then yell, "Slow the fuck down, sport, this is a neighborhood."
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