Thirty-five years ago nobody gave a damn. Other than the cops, who used to stop me and tell me that what I was doing was dangerous, or detain me to make their point, nobody cared.
Oh, how I long for those days.
Now, unsolicited, I have all sorts of “help.” My new friends tell the City of Orlando that to win their award, the city will have to paint lines all over the place. It doesn’t matter if the lines make any sense.
LAB, you are not my friend. I was better off without you.