Last week, though, I came upon the garbage picker to end all garbage pickers.

I pulled out of my garage. I was tired. I was cranky. And about 100 yards down the way, smack dab in the middle of the alley, was a large man pushing a baby stroller. My only thought was, "Boy, you best move out of the way. You don't want me to honk." Methinks he picked up what I was putting down. He broke into a light jog and turned left, presumably onto the sidewalk. Good.

Even though he was no longer in sight, I still slowed down a bunch towards the end of the alley. Because, you know, baby. And then I heard it. Shrieking. "YOU KILLED MY BABY!" I heard it almost before I saw it — the baby stroller flying into my path. I mean, flying. It'd been pushed, and hard. It hit my car. The stroller tipped over. And all I saw was a flash of two little baby legs.

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