Neon

I was once a policeman for a small village in Northern New York. Only one traffic light, and an overhead neon sign that said, “Welcome to Clayton!” The neon sign had been there for generations. One night, the sign went dark. I followed a trail of colored glass that led to Hungerford’s Hardware. A man with a big truck was making a night delivery, bits of neon glass on the truck’s hood. The antenna on the truck’s cab was the culprit. The driver felt bad about it. Rosie’s Diner was nearby. We had coffee, did the paperwork, and justice prevailed. 

Photo by photoGraph