Not a pleasant point of view at all. Yet there I was, and so was the lawman facing one another like an old west duel. Squared off, the sheriff had a quick draw on this writer.
It was years back and my 1965 Mustang convertible was crackin’ down North Congress, a long stretch of dark, desolate highway in Boynton Beach, Florida. It was approaching midnight and I was approaching 100 mph. The radio was …
