"The rules are here to serve us," I pleaded with the officer from the higher guard of traffic lore. I pointed at what I interpreted as evidence and said, "look at the rusted locks!" He just shrugged and pointed to the sign, of which I was in clear violation of. I walked away, muttering "that's ridiculous." But I knew that a day was coming when the parking officer would get his. When love blows in and re-orients all our intentions, there will be no parking tickets. When God's hyper angels march through our towns and rip our parking signs from their concrete feet. When God's ambitious angels jam all our anal-retentive, revenue generating oppression poles into the smiling faces on the bullshit billboards, when God's prophets come over the hill laughing and singing their authentic songs, then we'll see who is pointing at the signs, and the nature of the signs they are pointing to.