It’s getting warm now; sun baking the stop sign slightly facing me from the other side of the street. The red might fall right off, leave the whole damn thing white, the word ‘STOP’ still existing right there, but you can’t see it for anything, what with all that white. Drivers minding their own business see that milky octagon up on their right, but go barreling through that intersection as if it didn’t exist, like a dog hopping a fence that’s smack dab in the way of the milkman he’s trying to chase.
With all those cars chasing their respective milkmen, of course all hell breaks loose right there in the middle of the intersection and the hot white stop sign is standing there straight-and-narrow like, laughing its brains out.
