I should probably have transportation figured out by now.
It’s been a part of my life, in one way or the other, since my parents brought newborn me home from the hospital. And yet.
I could fill a memoir with my tales of tows, tickets and other travails — all a result of my poor planning or magical thinking. (“They won’t tow me if I just duck in here for a few …oh wow there goes my car.”) It would be a sad memoir, and it would quickly pile up in the clearance bin next to Snooki’s “A Shore Thing,” but at least it would be long.
