As I sped off the Knight Street Bridge into Vancouver, my heart sank. Radar trap. I just knew that the old adage was to be proved once again: the more hurry, the less speed.
"Where were you going in such a hurry?" said the officer.
"To my poetry group."
"Ah." He nodded sagely, then explained. I was exceeding the speed limit by a certain amount; therefore, he had no leeway to let me off with a warning. It would have to be a ticket.
At the Rustico, where we met over coffee, my fellow lady poets were sympathetic. We all knew I'd have to pay the fine.
A delicious caffe latte was a consolation; so was hearing the others read.
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