DC to New York

I fly through Maryland (crabcakes and football), pass Philadelphia (where sports fans throw D batteries at Santa Claus), cross Delaware (Hi, I'm in Delaware), hop on the New Jersey Turnpike and stop at a Burger King to grab a drink, use the facilities. A raspy Bryan Adams ballad is playing too loudly. There's a line. I am one of eight strangers waiting to pee in a tight hallway at a Burger King in South Jersey. It's awkward, and kinda hilarious. 

Not in Manhattan 30 minutes before I have a cop on my ass, siren blazing. I pull over to the side of 10th Ave, amid rush hour traffic. There's no shoulder, I'm blocking one of four very precious lanes, and thus, am the subject of every cab driver's horns and middle fingers and foreign vulgarities. License and registration. Something about no cell phones while driving in New York. 

I've been in six states today, Officer, 16 this month, it's hard to keep track. He looks at my California ID, shakes his head in disgust, and takes his time writing my ticket. 

Me: You don't do warnings?

Cop: You violate New York law, you get cited. 

Me: Well, I'm violating about ten more laws by just sitting here while you write my ticket.

Cop: Want me to write you ten more tickets?

Me: No

Cop: Well consider this your warning. 

Got me.