Okay, what's Latin for "fear of parking lots"?

Spoke to the police today.

I've found an apartment to sublet; the lease expires July 31st. It is in Murfreesboro, which means I am getting farther and farther South. So last night I slept in the Murfreesboro (that's a lot harder to type than Nashville) Wal-Mart. I shared my corner of the lot with an RV and a couple SUVs and cars.

Last night, back in Madison, I shared it with one of those NASCAR RVs (with the mini-garage in the back over about eight wheels) and a delivery truck. And the Zamboni. How could I forget the Zamboni? Parking lot sweepers have haunted my dreams for a week. I'm surprised the Devil hasn't chased me with a Zamboni across the Abu Graib Skating Rink in my dreams yet.

*brrrrrrr-rrrrrr-rRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRr-rrrrrrrrrrrr-rrrr....*
*brrrrrrr-rrrrrr-rRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRr-rrrrrrrrrrrr-rrrr....*
*brrrrrrr-rrrrrr-rRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRr-rrrrrrrrrrrr-rrrr....*

But it was not sleeping in a parking lot that attracted official attention. I needed to go to the bank to check my available balance. Showing up before the employees did may not have been the wisest move, nor was kicking back in the car reading Borges for hours. My sister called about 10:30 am CDT and as I was talking to her the police showed up.

I have ended up in nice, polite conversations with many inquisitive policemen in the past. Being 20, long-haired and bearded in a leather jacket will attract far more attention than you think, a lot of it mistaken or unwanted. Especially if you're given to wandering around a city at night on foot, thinking poetic thoughts, as I was then.

So, the policeman and I had a nice conversation, revealing that I was in fact a customer of the bank, with an account, I had just made a handshake deal on a sublet and would be working for Dell Tech support soon. He noted that Nashville had suffered a rash of bank robberies (as has Michigan) and police all over Tennessee were keeping an eye on banks.

I suppose the fact that I look, now, like a Civil War general (Grant or Longstreet) does not help me much. If I don't shave soon, I'm afraid my beard will start consuming things independently.

Afterward, Sis called back, somewhat concerned and wishing to know if I was, in fact, on my way to the bank or the pokey.

I move in tomorrow.

Can a cop tell if you're thinking poetic thoughts?

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