Just kidding, he's okay. What I really hate is that it takes what is seemingly hours to get anywhere. Everywhere you turn, the speed limit is 25 miles per hour. It is nearly impossible to go that slow. I find it preposterous that when I actually make it to 35 miles an hour I feel as though I am flying. Jeff and I do fit in well here as my motto has always been, "the faster you drive, the faster you get there," and his, "drive fast, take chances." Driving 25 miles per hour means going six miles takes an hour and a half.
On top of the ridiculously low speed limits, the cops here do everything possible to catch speeders. If you can even call going 30 speeding. They hide out at every intersection and parking lot. They hide behind trees and buildings. And for the places they aren't, they have cameras set up. Some along the sides of the streets and others on the stop lights, meaning not only can you not speed, but you can't run yellow/red lights either.
These aren't just scare tactics either. Believe me, I know all too well. Not because of my own doing, but because of Jeffrey. Last year, as the cars were registered to our New York address, his multiple electronically caught tickets would appear in the mail with lovely pictures of my husband driving along at something over 25 miles per hour.
While the fines were tedious, it was always nice to see a picture of Jeff. I was missing him so much!
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