Bombshell scare

Driving back from an assignment with Dave, the photographer, and we see flashing police lights up ahead.

"Aww crap," I groan, enthusiastic as usual for the possibility of more work. "I wonder what happened."

"I don't know but it looks like there are a lot of cops." Dave keeps one hand on the steering wheel, and with the other reaches towards the back seat, groping for his camera.

We get closer to the flashing lights. There's a local police car and a state police car. Some sheriffs deputies are on the way. Standing on the side of the road, next to a car with no noticable damage, looking utterly distressed, is a bleached blonde, nicely tanned, her hair and sundress blowing in the breeze. Both the officers -- men -- are looking at her with sympathetic expressions. One has his notebook open.

Dave stops groping for his camera and we both laugh.

"Oh yeah," Dave says. "She looks dangerous." Then he does his best cop impersonation: "Uh, we're going to need back-up on this one guys. Now ma'am, could we get your phone number please? For the record?"