Just kidding. I didn't fight the Law at all but dutifully went to get the rig tested and registered. This meant driving to the "shop" and discovering you have to wear a weird mask, like a robber, to get in the door. So I did, being a law-abiding citizen of the great Republic of Texas.
The Shop
They're a good crew at the "shop" and only charged $7 for the inspection, it didn't even take long. Thanks, guys, appreciate it. Next stop? The Court House, because that's where you register your vehicle.
Fortress
In the old days, people were less lawful in this part of the world and the imposing edifice to Justice still has metal shutters in place for fear of banditry, mayhem and insurrection. Like a fort, which in a way it was and might be again if the going gets weird. See Portland.
All Hail Texas
Of course I'd be happier if it was a collegiate church in a pleasant plaza with fountains, cafes, statues of saints and Confederate generals but there it is. The place burned down a little while ago and Willie Nelson helped to rebuild it, before he degenerated into a completely useless old hippy.
Willie aside, the Courthouse has gone full COVID. A pleasant young policeman asked if I had any symptoms of the Red Death, then took my temperature with a handheld machine which was doubtless made in China.
Huh
I wished him a muffled joy of the day through my annoying and stupid mask and offered an informal salute. Defend the Police, Thin Blue Line.
And then it was wait in line because the Kung Flu says only two people at a time are allowed in the registration office. Still, it wasn't too bad. A couple of veterans noticed each others' hat insignia in the queue.
"You served with the...?!?"
"What?!?"
"You served with..."
"Jets. Jet engines all day every day!"
"Can't hear you. What!"
A Rig
Good men, respect, and all too soon the line was at an end and I was forking over $75 for the white privilege of being road legal. Where does this money go? To the police and army of Texas, I hope.
Remember the Alamo,
LSP
