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I left before the argument could get worse.
The following morning, I was loading groceries into my car outside my townhouse when two police cruisers pulled up. An officer asked my name and then told me they had received a tip that I was transporting illegal narcotics. I actually laughed for a second because it sounded ridiculous.
Inside my emergency kit, beneath a blanket and a set of jumper cables, was a sealed bag of pills.
I heard myself say, “That isn’t mine,” but even to me the words sounded fragile. One officer read me my rights while the other closed the trunk. My neighbors watched from behind their curtains as I was handcuffed and placed in the back of the patrol car.