Running errands for my local Republican club this evening, I was turning out of the driveway of a member's house, which stood at the end of a winding road at the southern end of town. The road was narrow in the first, and fifteen inches of Christmas snow had been plowed onto three-foot-tall piles no further than one-and-one-half car lengths apart. I had just begun to pull out of the cul-de-sac when I finally noticed a city snow plow truck on the road, rumbling towards me. The vehicle's narrow face and closely set, glowing headlights reminded me of a Garthim creature from The Dark Crystal, a movie that can only be described as Jim Henson's thriller — only this monster was twice as large, orange and thrusting a flat, metal mandible at me.
I politely backed up and let the plow into the cul-de-sac before speeding away.
