Just ahead is the checkpoint, again. The officer does not motion for us to pull over this time, but because we’re doing all of 9 mph, he could walk up from behind and wrestle the little car to a stop. “Don’t make eye contact,” I say to Jon. To my dismay, he looks directly at the cop. He even sticks his hand out the window and waves. He might as well hold a sign: “Hey, remember the guy next to me? Shouldn’t he be in jail?” Out of the corner of my eye I see the officer turn away, arms still folded. The whine of the little car’s engine must be hurting his ears.