It’s pouring rain here, so I have extended drive time to observe and ponder the cars, habits, and (imaginary) lives of others. This morning, I had the great fortune to be right behind a large pick-up truck as traffic crawled through the first tunnel of my commute. (Yes, I drive through two tunnels, twice a day, every work day.) This particular truck looked new and shiny and sported a trailer hitch that would rip my bumper right off if my car so much as kissed it.The tail-gate was taller than my car. The windows were tinted so I couldn’t really see any traffic beyond the huge side mirrors of the rolling behemoth. Now the only reason I reason that I remember so much about this vehicle is because when I sounded out the personalized license plate, I read “Londontown”.
Londontown? On a Ford F-150? Well, naturally, because nothing says “Cheerio” like a big-ass truck. Does the locked tool-box contain an emergency tea set? If the tunnel back up gets worse, can we pause for some crumpets or scones? Maybe he’s on his way to Arizona to working on that falling down bridge? Is he a Clash fan?
Well, I indulged all my theories until the freeway merge split us apart. Until next time, Mr. Londontown. I like your plate better than the “6Satan6” who apparently lives a couple of blocks from me. I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t serve crumpets.