The Edge of Criminal

Living on the edge of criminal.

The list that society has placed upon me over the course of a summer.
Man made, voted, excepted, expected.

Let me get another coffee, have a quick smoke outside for all to breath and I will be right back to explain through ink.

Sooo... fact or fiction, the readers choice of belief.

Starting five months before my inspection sticker was due to run out my truck started having problems, expensive problems. First the front end. New brakes and lines, calipers, rotors, bearings greased, tightened up, touched up, greased, looked over etc,etc ...

Next a new fuel pump, gas tank, air intake, master cylinder, and then the whammy. A transmission! Four thousand dollars later looking at ball joints and the inspection sticker is three months passed due. Bill collectors, disconnection notices the banker denies any help after the truck has been bought over again mechanically. Seventeen truck payments could have been made. I joke with the banker how I fixed the truck just for it to be repossessed. He says he's glad to see I have a sense of humor. Haha ... yeah they'll all see my sense of humor when they come to take it away and find it in a pond.

So now after a day in the garage at eighty dollars an hour and being told that the inspecting folks are trying to get work (due to poor economy) on a ball joint that's ok are full of shit and the truck is inspectable and being told to return the ball joint that I still have behind my truck seat. I have found I must still live on the edge of criminal.

The two mechanic's who've been working on my truck,one doesn't inspect the others paper work for inspections is stuck in a paper shuffle at our state capital. I was told to stop at the local garages anywhere down the strip in the city on my way home and could get inspected. Well folks guess what it only gets better.

It appears there are many excuses out there why not do an inspection.
The first place I stopped at the owner and only licensed inspector was an hour late and still drunk. A fifty-ish sort with some twenty year old floozy on his arm. He had no time for an inspection I was told. So driving onward down the strip I was answered with he's not here's, to be backs on Mondays, to full working bays and come backs tomorrows or the best of all the run out of stickers.

Yes sir re-bob four thousand plus new rubber now on the front and I'm three months
on ...

"The Edge of Criminal"