Hey, Belle Meade cops, I’m on to you, finally. When I was young and naive, I drove through your SUBDIVISION late in the evening towards Blockbuster, in a bit of a hurry to beat the late fee. At 50mph, I was unconcerned about you sitting on the opposite side of the road, less concerned that you pulled up next to me, running parallel for a moment, then dropping back to light me up. Oh golly jeepers officer I was just on the way to return some movies. 50 in a 40? Well, it seemed like some other cars were going at that speed, but oh well. No, there’s no drugs or guns in my car. Search the messy hatchback if you like, there’s only smelly gym socks, a football and soccer ball.
Now I know. I know about the negro alarm that goes off when darkies dare to travel through your fine SUBDIVISION. I know what you were doing, sitting there doing nothing until you saw a brown skinned man in an Infiniti and you pulled up along side me, parallel again, careful not to pass. What did you find when you slowed down and dropped back? Tags? Check. Seatbelt? Check. No probable cause? Check. Move along, Johnny Law, there’s nothing to see here.