I could have gone to their offices. They have a local office. But I just downloaded and printed out the forms.

It took a couple of minutes to fill them out. Then—get this!—I had to get an envelope and stamp and actually mail the form to a P.O. box. I had to wait an interminable 2 weeks for a response.

At that point, I still had to bring the new form that they sent me and some IDs to an official center to get the official photo and finally a legal license card.

I knew all this regulation was odious.

Of course, it happened. A week ago, I got a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Before I could emerge from my stupor, the door was busted open and three guys wearing what looked like decontamination suits were standing at my bedside, guns pointed at me. A flashlight blinded me.

I followed their instructions, standing with my hands behind my head and my legs spread. I tried to ask questions but was told to shut up.

They took my wallet, inspected my ID and said, “Yeah, he’s the guy.” They went out to the garage and took my car. And not just my car, but all the cars on the street, no all the cars in the country!

We should have seen this coming. Many of us did.

Now I walk everywhere. My sneakers are licensed. I’m holding onto them tight. They’ll have to pry them from my cold dead feet. I won’t go easily. I still have a gun.