I never have gotten out of a ticket.
Apparently, that makes me a bit of a loser. One of my dearest friends, Lena, is a savant at getting out of tickets. Her superpower is the gift of gab — a bubbling, bumbling babbling of words that, once strung together, cops find altogether confusing and charismatic.
When we were in high school, Lena drove a white ‘88 Buick Skylark with cow seat covers that cops loved to pull over. But for as many times as Lena heard the sirens ring behind her, she rarely had to pay out. It didn’t hurt that Lena was beautiful. And it absolutely helped that Lena had the spastic charm of a puppy trying to climb stairs. There was something inherently adorable in the way she’d struggle to explain why she was speeding. The coppers couldn’t help smiling.
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