The guy at the grocery store was in a hurry, but I got a look at him. He had shades on, but that's where the comparisson should end. He was middle-aged and paunchy. He looked nothing like Val Kilmer.
There was nothing in his appearance to justify the license plate that read, "ICEMAN."
I wanted a gum-chewing son-of-a-gun to step out of the car and chomp his mouth in my direction. Then we'd play volleyball to the tune of a terrible, terrible Kenny Loggins song.
Oh, New England. This is a funny thing to appreciate about you, but your license plates are consistently excellent. I can't figure out at least half of them. A former co-worker has an entire Facebook album crammed full of pictures of license plates; most are from New England.
It makes the 50-minute commute to work far more entertaining when you can ponder the hidden meaning behind license plates the whole way.
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