Peter Fawcett realized, staring at the piece of paper with his name on it, that he had committed one very long, slow burn tantrum.
If he was mad at himself for anything it was giving the cop his driver’s license.
Peter hadn’t driven in years. Wasn’t sure why he even renewed his license, other than renewing it was something they reminded you to do.
He did it, just in case.
The just-in-case was that he handed the otherwise unused license to a cop, who stood on the sidewalk and issued a ticket.
Fundemonium was a few doors down.
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