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Doin' 25 through the Centreville, GA school zone, havin' already learned the hard way that those people are SERIOUS about their speed limit signs, a man come up hard on my bumper honkin' and wavin' his fists at me. He couldn't get around 'cause of oncomin' cars. I was unconcerned. I figured that when we got over the rise and around the bend he'd see the police station and the speed trap, and maybe even be grateful that I'd saved him some money.

Sure enough, there was the cop in his usual spot, and we went past him and out of the zone without incident. At the 40 mile an hour sign, I sped up... just as that fellow behind me decided it was time to pass. He must've thought I was tryin' to prevent him from goin' around.

He stomped the gas, passin' and mouthin' somethin' about my mother, and zoomed ahead until he stopped in the middle of that narrow bridge right there at Brantley Road, (I really miss old Johnny Brantley... sigh...) where he got out, and angrily walked back towards me. I reckon he was gonna ask me to dance.

I stopped my car and without makin' any faces at him, or sayin' anything at all about his mother, I leaned over, opened up the glove compartment and stuck my hand in. He froze, eyes wide as saucers. He whirled around and double-timed back to his car and got outta there.

It's a good thing, because I was ready to slap him with a map of the Eastern United States!