Last Saturday, when I first sensed an opening in the
brutal snow-ice-extreme cold combination that had gripped my area for the prior
month, I drove my car to the supermarket. Approaching the crest of a hill a few
blocks from my home, I gasped.
Ahead of me loomed a pothole with the joint
circumference of a pair of garbage and recycling barrels in my driveway. What’s
more, the crater looked large enough to swallow whole my car (not to mention its
driver), like some bad 21st-century horror movie about the terrors
of suburban America.
Evidently, someone must have called the relevant
authorities about the danger, because the next day traffic cones had been
erected. When I walked by late this afternoon, the cones had been lifted. A stopgap
measure had been adopted: the space around the railroad tracks, though not
smooth, had been at least partly filled.
My guess is that some areas of major county roads
will continue to pose dangers to the tires and shocks of unwary motorists. My
street, meanwhile, will probably feature, for a while yet, this scene that I photographed several
hours ago. It will stay this way while busier streets receive
attention and dollars, until someone finally squawks about it enough to get it
fixed.
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