The late-night stop began like so many others: a lonely road, a weaving car, and a driver who believed he was “totally fine.” His words slurred, his feet betrayed him, and every excuse he offered only dug him deeper. The officer stayed patient, methodically moving through each test, hoping the man would see the danger he posed, not just to himself but to everyone who might cross his path.
When the final challenge came—a simple sentence using three colors—the man saw it as a game, not a lifeline. His triumphant punchline, “The phone went green green, I pink it up, and the light turned yellow,” was meant to impress. Instead, it sealed his fate. The handcuffs weren’t just punishment; they were protection. In the quiet click of metal, the night drew a hard line between a joke and a deadly risk.
