As I stood out on my front lawn spraying the garden hose at cars that were speeding down our street, I was reminded of Mr. Soltis. Mr. Soltis was a neighbor of ours when I was a punky little teenager. He always yelled at me for driving too fast down our street. He was about three hundred pounds, and he would waddle on down to our house to berate me and snitch to my parents about my speeding. I, being the ever most intelligent smartass of our block, once schooled him on traffic laws. "The speed limit on un-posted roads is thirty miles per hour." I informed him as he tattled to my dad. They both looked at me, my dad with sadness and Mr. Soltis with pure anger. "That's the speed limit for a main street, you little asshole. This is a residential street and the speed limit is twenty miles per hour on residential streets." Mr. Soltis sneered. Of course he was correct, on all counts. As I sprayed another car speeding by, I realized that I was now Mr. Soltis. I was now the old fart who yelled at people. I am old. Best evidence of that is the fact that I get up every hour on the hour, all night long, to pee. I am actually awakened by dreams where I am peeing. Luckily for me, they are only dreams. I have a lot of markers that let me know I have reached the age of old fart. I can't climb stairs without hanging onto the banister and pulling myself up. Getting out of bed nearly requires a crane to lift me up and out. And then there is the lawn. I am regularly out there picking up trash and shouting "Pigs!, Pigs!" So now in addition to that behavior, I am now out there squirting cars with the hose to slow them down. Which isn't all that horrible. The guy across the street runs after them with a crowbar.