In America, people park their vehicles nose-first into the stall. They accept that when leaving, they must reverse blind into the chaos of the Target parking lot. Nobody questions this.
But a warrior never points his steed into a dead end.
I reversed my Honda Civic into the space between two pickup trucks with surgical precision, tailpipe against the curb, nose pointed toward the open highway for immediate tactical retreat.
A man in cargo shorts holding a gallon of milk stopped in his tracks, stared at my front bumper, and whispered to his wife: 'That guy is ready for something.'
I am ready for Tuesday, Dale.