Ohio police officers don’t look like they are in very good shape. Officer McFadden seemed exhausted from the exertion of getting out of his car, or perhaps to give him a break, it was the 100% humidity. Even I could outrun this one I thought. Deerkiller is not pleased. She has no intention of running. Her eyes follow his every move. She is daring him to cross in front of our car. He senses this somewhere in his police brain. He steps back, thinks about it, and then walks up to her window instead. “Looks like you two were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Deerkiller grits her teeth and then snarls at him. At that exact moment, a giant streak of lighting flashes behind him. It illuminates a large corn field and turns Officer McFadden into a shadow. At the sound of the accompanying thunder he jumps back, frowns, and looks puzzled. His upper lip is dripping wet. Deerkiller smiles at him like a cat smiling at a mouse. A truckload of Amish pass us by. They are sad looking men with long grey beards but shaved upper lips. I am somewhere in the middle of Ohio. Even the sign in front of me says mid-Ohio exit 2 miles.
I am moments away from discovering the comforts of the Chillicothe court house. This may be okay. I have not sobered up from last nights wine dinner. My next dinner is only hours away. The cop still has not moved back towards our car. I wonder why I am so focused on upper lips.