Late last night as I was on my way home after taking the picture of the Squire for the post below:
Fender bender at the street corner up ahead. Nothing serious. A pair of bewildered and sheepish looking drivers stand beside their cars, looking at the kissed bumpers, wondering what to do. A tall, barrel-chested cop in a reflector vest hurries up through the crowd behind me, moving people aside with his hands. Big hands, and a light touch on a shoulder makes an impression.
I manage to get out of his way without his having to make an impression on me, but ahead there's a group of thirtysomethings, two men, three women, walking four abreast, with one of the men trailing slightly behind, blocking the cop's way.
The cop strides up and, seeing a gap between two of the women, angles his way between them, saying to one of the women by way of an excuse me, "Watch your little feet, lady."
The woman, a short brunette in an oversized sweatshirt that looks very new, takes offense at his tone and his choice of words.
"What did he say?" she asks her friends. "Watch your little feet, lady? Is that what he said? Watch your little feet, lady?" She's incensed. "Watch my little feet!" She raises her voice and calls after him, but not really loud enough for him to hear, "You watch your little feet!"