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By W. G. Warren.

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I walk every morning.  One might call it a walking meditation.  If my feeble mind isn’t correcting the world’s problems, it meanders aimlessly from subject to subject seemingly out of control until it finally captures a stimulating topic.  A note to those who do not walk or jog:  Laughter, whether out loud or to yourself, makes the walk or jog short-lived.

I’m a car guy.  I love a pretty fender – and there are millions of funny car-guy stories.  And some not so funny.

Dennis was the used car manager of the Triumph agency where I worked.  We were ogling out the showroom window at all the passing cars – and girls.  Dennis stood six-foot six, two hundred and forty pounds, all teeth and smiles.  Dennis was an ex-cop.  Don’t mess with Dennis.

As we turned in unison, a little red 356 Porsche drove slowly by as if out for a Saturday afternoon cruise.  The conversation went something like this.

“Bill, that Porsche looks just like mine.”

“Damn if it doesn’t,” said I.

“ Holy s..t, it is my f…ing car,” screamed Dennis.  Off he ran.  Yes, he blew out of there like a Sirocco wind, hopped in one of the dealership’s TR-6’s and lit the tires in hot pursuit.  Hell hath no fury like a car-guy about to lose his toy.

And yes, Dennis caught the poor schmuck who positively chose the wrong car to play sightseer.  Dennis extricated the luckless teenage thief with enthusiasm right through the opened window.  The poor ill-fated neo-criminal had a long, painful walk home. 

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Click to see: Nobody's Nomad by W. G. Warren.

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