The Burcak Story (3) Frantically Hoping
About halfway the journey (that is, about four minutes into it), while I was through one of the two villages separating me from my destination, I was signaled to over by a police car. I’d never been stopped by the police—they don't pull over pedestrians, not even drunken ones—so I almost ran them , frantically trying to the car to stop where they wanted and expected to.
Those poor cops were used to with drivers who knew how to keep a car on the road. I was not one of those drivers and they were in the of finding that out. The cops were being a little too for my taste, but I suppose that goes with the of keeping a society from running off the . They asked for my papers. I recalled my wife mentioning the possibility of this happening and me nodding while mentally planning an hockey attack.