Where the Sidewalk Never Begins

My apologies for misusing, but hopefully not abusing the title of your wonderful work of poetry.

Cordially,

The Angry Pedestrian

Now that that’s out of the way, let me tell you about the place where the sidewalk never begins; it’s called the suburbs. I don’t live in the suburbs, but I had to go there the other day and “do some business.” As I mentioned in my introductory post, I do own a car. It was the car that dragged me to the suburbs. I took it in for a 2-year, 25,000 mile service; the odometer read 14,134 miles. I was under the impression that it was covered by the 2-year, 25,000 mile service package that came with the vehicle when I bought it. I was wrong.

I dropped off my car at the dealership’s service center and walked approximately one-half mile across the street to eat. That’s right, I walked half a mile to cross the street. Here is an aerial view of the intersection.  It’s mostly parking lots and, if memory serves, 9 lanes of traffic. I finally crossed the street only to find the sidewalk did not go to the restaurant at which I was hoping to eat. Instead I had to cut across some grass, the drive through lane, and the parking lot. The pedestrian loses again.