Parked along a blind curve, the dump truck completely prevented anyone from passing without taking their lives into their hands against onrushing traffic. Ordinarily there’d be a flagman or two, but in this case it was just three guys sawing limbs and filling the bed with fresh-fallen, fresh-cut wood.

“Hey, do you mind letting me know if there’s anyone coming?” Juan said, rolling down the window of his work truck.

“We’re on break,” the cutting crew called back.

“C’mon, this is the only way to get to Federal Drive,” Juan said. “Will you just tell me if the way is clear?”

“Sorry, can’t,” was the reply. “Somebody parked a big dump truck in the road, I can’t see nothin’!”

Juan sighed, muttered a commingled prayer/curse, and floored it. His truck, a dualie, had great torque but poor acceleration, and it lumbered around the curve just n time to elicit an angry honk–but luckily nothing worse–from a motorist passing the other way.

A little later, the cutting crew pulled the dump truck back onto the road to drive the branches up to a dump site above Federal Drive. They soon found themselves stymied by Juan’s dualie, parked so as to impede traffic going both ways, as he filled a pothole with infill and asphalt from his truck bed, as per his city contract.

“Hey! Out of the way.”

“I’m on break,” Juan called up to them. “Some guy from the city parked a dualie across the road, can you believe that?”

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