Chamblee54

Sometimes you make the effort. The stuff at home can wait, and something is going on downtown. You put long pants and shoes on, wash your face, and get in the car. Sometimes it is worth it. Sometimes you would have been better off staying home.
There are arts festivals in town this Memorial Day. Thursday, the uberhipone downtown had a visual art opening and spoken word stage. A magic word…FREE…got PG interested. The space was a mattress factory that PG had delivered foam rubber to 38 years before.
So he drives down Briarcliff, through Little Five Points, past the hundred motorcycles parked outside the Vortex. On down Moreland, and some idiot is riding a pedal bike, without a light, through the tunnel. Finally bikeboi cut across the road, no doubt headed to the shopping center. Gentrification is so much fun.
Finally, the gallery is in sight, and PG realizes he is clueless where to park. He goes up the ramp, and sees two cars backing out of the section on the left side of the lot. He asks one of these cars what is going on, and learns that the lot is full. Suburbanite PG has little taste for art without parking, and decided he needed to go home.
A bit down the road on MLK is an entrance to the expressway, which seemed like a good idea. The normal procedure here… the least bad way to get home…is to get off the freeway at Buford Hiway.This night was an exception.
First, before you get to Lenox Road, there were seven APD cars, blue lights flashing, and one civilian car. This didn’t really affect PG, and considers that maybe it is a good idea to arrest that person.
On the other side of the light, across Peachtree Creek and the city limit, there was another gathering of blue lights. Everyone was stopped, and cars were forming lines. It looked like another accident, or maybe some roadwork.
It was a roadblock. In every lane were policeman, with orange vests over their uniforms. PG was in a line, and more annoyed than worried. He was 21 years retired from alcohol, the insurance was paid up, and the seat belt was buckled.
There was that chilling thought that his freedom was in jeopardy. If the fuzz took a mind to, PG could go to jail and lose his car. Doing nothing wrong has nothing to do with it.
The cop shouted “we have a line open here, come over this way”. PG looked to the side, and moved into this lane. He drove slowly through, expecting to see a Storm Trooper at any minute, reading him his rights. As it happened, no policeman was working that lane. PG just slowly drove through, and was never asked to stop.