Today's tax place waver.

I looked over at him; he was yelling something. A dirty gray hat was under his crown, and ankle-high USA socks were tucked into his Sketchers ShapeUps. I turned down the Beatles song I was listening to, but that wasn't enough. He looked like Martin Starr. Passenger window down further, driver window up completely. His lips were moving, but he wasn't facing me, as he stomped, danced, and waved. Oblivious to passers-by, I caught what he was saying. In the brief time that he faced my car, I heard the man say "Helloooo, helloooo, helloooo... I hail from Scotland" in his mostly Shrek-ish sounding accent. I giggled as my light turned green.