“Probably. I’m the music critic for the local newspaper. I suppose you want to hassle me for last week’s King Crimson review.”

“Sir, I’ve been following you for the past two miles and. . .”

“Ha! Following me? You wanna challenge? Try following the career of Engelbert Humperdinck!”

“You made an unsafe lane change back there.”

“Is that all? Heck, Judas Priest changed their singer. You don’t see me chasing after them, do you? Huh?”

“Then you drove up on the sidewalk and clipped that fruit stand.”

“Fruit? Fruit?? You’re working me over because I squashed a few pineapples? Listen, officer. I’ve have to review concerts by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds and The Derek Trucks Band. Do you really expect me to get worked up over a few flattened kumquats?

“You also drove the wrong way on a one way street.”

“One way, two way, what’s the difference? I’m on deadline to deliver my Rockapella review for the next edition.”

“Sir, your driving is a hazard to other motorists. You’re a public menace.”

“A menace? Me? Heck, I’m just like you guys. I’m a public servant. Without my reviews, how would the concert fan know which shows to see? Just this week I wrote about Jim Lauderdale and Steve Wynn & The Miracle 3. I’m provide a valuable service. To protect and to serve.”

“You were also driving way too fast. To top it off, when I pulled you over, you parked in a handicapped zone.”

“Why not? You think it’s easy being a music critic? Do you know all the anxiety that goes into reviewing Tomahawk? All the personal torment?”

“Sir. . .”

“What are you going to do now? Write me a ticket?”

” Don’t think of it as a ticket, sir. Think of it as a review of your driving performance.”

“Sheesh. Everyone’s a critic.”