… there I was, scruffy, slouching and shame-faced in the back of the police car that was pulled over by the heap of free firewood on our front lawn. I was waiting for the cop to let me out of the back passenger seat, like any old serial killer. …

…

I never really notice the squalor of my existence until some professional order-keeper or other neatnik enters my environs. My first humiliation of that particular day had come when the cop pulled over our filthy car, brimming, as usual, with old newspapers and empty pop cans, worn socks and battered novels. …

As Johnny Cash once sang, I hung my head

Scofflaws like Kate should be grateful for only a $500 fine for driving without insurance.

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