‘The pitfalls and perils of traffic in The Hamptons’
I’m a little late today. I had to (gasp) leave The Compound by car. Which is something I rarely do out here in The Hamptons.
Why don’t I like to drive out here? Take a guess
Did I dash out to Citarella for a twelve-dollar loaf of bread? Or to Lunch for a forty-dollar lobster roll? Nah. I loaded up the Toyota for a trip to the dump. Er, “recycling center.”
I usually put off my Dump Run until Thursday, when I can combine it with my Groceries/Mail/Liquor Run for a trip I call my “Vector.” But I made grilled chicken involving a garlic-loaded marinade the other night, and the garbage bag which I hung on a hook in the basement (to discourage mice) was starting to, well, infuse the entire house with a not-very-enticing aroma.
There’s even traffic at the Forty-Dollar Farm Stand. But there’s a nice aroma of roasting corn. So there’s that
So I screwed my courage to the sticking place and nosed my way out of our driveway and into — Hamptons Traffic.
