“It’s hot, maybe too hot. Shouldn’t have waited so long”, I chastised myself. But the rhythmic plodding of my new Asics soon had me back in the zone. I was on a long walk. I have several routes, carefully categorized into short, long and longest. This route was nice, a long walk, only a couple of busy streets to cross, no real traffic, some dirt paths, my favorite.

The screech came out of nowhere. An electric guitar playing well beyond the designers specs. Up and up it climbed, hung there, then screaming down like a fearsome meteor. In a blink, the guitar yielded to the roar of a V8 winding to 6000 rpm in first gear, second, tires howling, the Jeep was on me. Coal black, top off, doors off, it parted the air like a blunt spear.

Driving was a young woman, cutoffs, string top, blond hair streaming like a comet’s tail. She backed off the pedal with a snort and the guitar instantly returned, filling the void between engine and houses, bouncing off a high concrete wall. A smile lit up her face as she smoothed the trajectory of her chariot.

Jarred from my walking stupor, my reaction was immediate and swift. The curmudgeon grumbled: "wasting gas; tearing your car up; disturbing the neighborhood, etc, etc."

Oh, for heaven's sake, Bill. . .

Caught at my second wrong judgment of the day, I walked on, smiling at the glory of youth and the kids who take delight in such things.