I work in a place called Independence, an ironically-named pseudo-town that survives by parasitizing Cleveland. A couple of weeks ago, while I was walking to work from the bus stop, a cop flashed his lights at me, pulled over, and proceeded to lecture me about crossing against the light and how I would be technically at fault if I got hit. Kind of a WTF moment because, really, the plan either way is not to get hit and, unless cars started plummeting out of the sky like the batrachian heralds of a demented god, that wasn't about to happen. But no big deal really; he didn't give me a ticket or even one of those goofy little warning slips. I chalked it up to boredom mixed with sanctimonious tendencies, politely agreed not to jaywalk anymore, and moved on.
Well, today, I walked down the street to pick up some lunch. At the intersection, I dutifully pressed the placebo button and waited for the "walk" signal. So, once the light turned, guess who came roaring down the road at twice the speed limit and whipped onto the main street without stopping. You got it: Deputy Do-Right of the Independence Police. No sirens, no lights, no horn, no hint that there might be some emergency which would necessitate murdering law-abiding pedestrians. Nothing.
Sure is a pretty day, though.