I was grabbing some much-needed shade last Sunday up at the Mesa shopping center, lurking in the cool shadows between the Chinese restaurant and the laundromat. I happened to be sipping a 7-Up as I contemplated all the things I should be doing. The wind, which was threatening untold scary mischief, was mercifully holding back. It was one of those excruciatingly beautiful autumn days. I was in no hurry.
A car in the parking lot fired up. With a flick of the wrist — or a push of the finger — we can have a stampede of 300 horses at our beck and call to pick up a quart of milk.
Amazing.