Imagine that you’re heading down the freeway doing 85 in a 70-mph zone. You see the multicolored lights of doom blinking in your rearview mirror, and you think of one thing, and one thing only: “I’m going to get a ticket.” The cop saunters up to your car, nice as can be, writes the ticket, bids you adieu, and is on his merry way. He offers no hysterics, no anger, no threats. Just courtesy and a little slip of paper — the consequences of your breaking the law. As an adult, you would never think, in your wildest imaginings, of telling him, “I’ll be good, officer. Honest, I won’t speed
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