It Wasn’t The Highway Patrol

It was already dark as we were heading east on our way back home from a trip to Yosemite. We topped a pass and immediately noticed the flashing red light of a patrol car on the far side of the valley below.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Looks like the police have someone pulled over. Probably for speeding.”

It took us quite awhile to get down to the valley floor since we were on one of those twisty roads. My grandmother said those kind of roads were so crooked they would break a snake’s back. Anyway, all the time we were coming down we continued to get glimpses of that patrol car’s light.

Even as we drove across the valley we could occasionally still see the flashing light. My wife allowed as how whoever they had stopped must have a big problem.

Soon it became evident that whatever was happening was on the same road we were on.

As we arrived at the intersection of another road we quickly discovered the truth and burst out laughing. There was no car or truck pulled over by the highway patrol. The flashing red light we had been seeing was mounted on the roof of a brothel.

This entry was posted in Experience, Life, Nonfiction, Nostalgia, Travel, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to It Wasn’t The Highway Patrol

  1. Terra says:


    Liked by 1 person

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