I’d just left the Jewel with a trunk full of groceries that cost about half a week’s paycheck and switched on the radio in time to hear Judas Priest shrieking, “Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the lawww!” Singing along like Beavis and Butthead, I picked up speed and made the turn from School to Marshfield, only to find the street entirely blocked by trucks making deliveries to Whole Foods. “Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the lawww,” I muttered, turning hard onto Lincoln. A biker pulled up beside me at the light on Roscoe. Gonna try to buzz me off the line? I thought. “Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the lawww,” I snarled as we took off, racing up Lincoln. Suddenly a police cruiser appeared off a side street. We both slowed down instantly, braking for the law.
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