Post-Diluvian Follies: “Be Careful of Those Bike Accidents, Sir.”

I ran into a checkpoint at Jefferson and Prytania. The guardsman, gun slung across his shoulder, walked up to the car. I rolled down the window.

“Can I see some ID, sir?”


Natty Guard

I showed him my license. “70115—you’re good.” He looked down at my knees, scabbed from my frantic roof-top scramble. “Be careful of those bike accidents, sir.”

“Actually…” I started to explain but then thought better of it, “…I will.” I drove on.