The Wine Line

“Alright, now walk,” the police officer commanded. His steps seemed staggered. However. he stepped in a straight line.

“Alright, you passed the test. Just don’t lift the glass too many times, pal.” The cop peeled off on his motorcycle. Denizen Cales re-entered his vehicle. He then had a sip of wine in a soda can.

As he pulled out onto the freeway, he was feeling great and light. He smiled in his rearview mirror. When he looked back on the road, he found a minivan about to strike his car. The tires skidded but he plowed right into the back of the van.

“Goddamnit!” He was not injured at all but the minivan suffered significant damage. This caused tears to well in the eyes of the driver as a mother tried to retrieve her son from the car. At only twelve-years-old, the young man perished at the irresponsibility of Cales.

“You killed him! You killed my son!” The mother, apoplectic, (for obvious reasons) yelped at Cales.

He brought his hands to his face. “Wait, we can wait until the paramedics arrive. He could still be alive!”

Beryl, the mother, looked at Cales as red and white lights and sirens approached them. They looked on as the professionals arrived. Another police officer came and wrapped the cold bracelets of steel around his wrists.

Beryl’s eyes gleamed as her son Keith waved a hand after being knocked unconscious.

She marched over to Cales and the cop.

“Still, you’ve gotta lock him up for attempted vehicular homicide,” she shrieked.

The police woman put her hand on Cales’ head and placed him in the back of her cruiser.

Each step seemed to be like lugging around cement shoes. Cales stood in front of the camera as his picture snapped. All because of some wine.