Don’t judge…
John Doe
So, I stop at the red light and reach for my steaming mug of hot coca, when my ears were suddenly violated. A quick glance left confirmed my suspicion.
“C’mon, man! You can’t be serious? My windows are up!”
It didn’t matter. My rear view mirror was quaking in unison to the rhythmic, thundering jungle beat pounding from the trunk of a…I don’t know…maybe a…late 60’s Chevrolet; whatever the “homies” are rolling in these days. I mean, my marsh mellows are literally dancing in my mug, as this guy’s trunk is rattling like a couple of cats fighting in a bag of tin cans. The guy’s stereo probably used more wattage than my washer and dryer together, but I see him nodding to the beat as if the trash is lulling him to sleep.
Meanwhile, the hairs in my ears are vibrating. I lean…
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