Walk The Walk

Walk the walk

Sunday patrol.

Country roads.

Brown car.

Shiny star.

Spring breezes.

FM radio.

I Fought The Law But The Law Won.

Radar Love.

Born To Be Wild.

Dark glasses, mirrored.

Short sleeves, rolled up.

Two tight turns.

Biceps struggle against fabric.



Tough guy.

Window down.

ZZ Top.

La Grange.

Love that song.

Crank it up!

Tapping fingers on steering wheel.

“Rumor spreadin’ a ’round…”

Sharp curve.

“That Texas town…”


Man, walking.

Long hair.




Filthy doper.

Drugs, I bet.

Stoner, no doubt.


Back up.

“I’ll be out of the car with a pedestrian on Hwy 1313.”

Crackle. “10-4.”

“Where you headed, buddy?”

“I’m on my way home.”

“Where you been, boy?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, where you been…BOY.”

“Have I done anything wrong, sir?”

“I’ll ask the questions. Now, where’ve you been?”

“I’ve been on a camping trip with some friends. Now I’m headed home.”

Starts to walk away.

“Come back here. I’m not done with you.”

Exasperation. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Temper flares.

Face red.

Veins bulge.

“Sir, please.”

Hikes up gun belt and pants.

Pushes shades high on nose.

Flexes fingers.

“Sir, calm down. I just want to go home. I live nearby.”

Opening and closing fists.

“Send an ambulance to this location.”

Crackle. “10-4. Do you need assistance? Are you 10-4?”

“I’m fine, but this guy’s gonna need an ambulance in just about one minute.”

Eyes roll in dozens of patrol cars.

Blue lights wink and blink.

Backup’s on the way, again.

He’ll never learn.

Radio silence.

Then, as usual…


“Officer needs assistance!

Officer needs assistance!

10-33! 10-33!


Can’t walk the walk?

Then don’t talk the talk.


“Ah, have mercy…” ~ Billy Gibbons, Dusty Hill, and Frank Beard – ZZ Top