Word: driver
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Angry police officials admit using radar but deny the speed-trap charge. If the class-action lawsuit is successful, the city will have to cough up the cash and the state will have to subtract at least one moving violation from the records of every driver nabbed along that stretch of the highway. "What can I tell you?" says Franceschi. "They got me three times in two years...
...Park Avenue salon. They discuss Jane Austen novels, speak in Henry James sentences and try to live in Philip Barry's plays. Their manners are ) impeccable (a deb can be paid no higher compliment than being called "well read"), their snobbery impregnable (one boy doesn't have a driver's license because, he tuts, "I'm no jock!"). They know they are out of fashion and cheerfully debate their irrelevance, like dinosaurs analyzing their own bones. Most of them are moneyed, but they soon must admit to a crucial class distinction: between the aristocracy of the desired and the proletariat...
...International Monetary Fund-dictated measures as a 10% pay cut and a new 15% value-added tax, and by his decision to spend $125,000 on a statue of a deceased civil servant. "It is a message and a lesson for the government," said one Port-of-Spain truck driver, adding "There are too many unemployed, and they don't understand all that complicated economic stuff that's strangling them." If that doesn't change soon, the people may soon be singing Bye, Bye, Mr. Prime Minister...
Like many Americans, Rusty Wallace likes to take the car for a spin on a Sunday afternoon. But Wallace is hardly your typical Sunday driver out on a jaunt in the countryside. Helmeted, buckled up and clad in a fireproof jumpsuit, he averages about 150 m.p.h. in his 670-horsepower gold-on-black Pontiac and is usually hotly pursued by a roaring pack of heavily decaled Chevys, Fords and Chryslers. A Wallace outing, in short, is like a scene from the current Tom Cruise movie about stock-car racing, Days of Thunder. And no wonder: Wallace is the world-champion...
...writer never panned out. He was too busy living his autobiography to write it. For this reason he entered modern folklore through the eyes of others, his adventures fictionalized or romanticized. By the time he appears in Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test as the bus driver for Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters, he is an aging parody of himself. Carolyn Cassady does not allow this to happen in her book. Even when she is describing her former husband at his most impossible, she never totally forgets the possibilities of his youth. Others obviously felt the same...