Flashing lights from an unmarked black sedan; sudden short blare of a siren out of nowhere. I pull over, but the police car doesn’t move on. Those lights, for me? For me?
I’d been tooling along John Nolen Drive, lost in Ligeti’s propulsive first Étude. Is that what it was about the throbbing blue Beetle, swimming along in a sea of cars going just as fast, that asked for special attention?