I must have hit my head. I can think of no other reason why I started seeing these cones everywhere, blazing neon, as chartreuse as an orange can be, desperately begging to be seen.

You know them, don't you?

When's the last time you really noticed them?

Safety cones are sprinkled throughout American existence - beacons of fleshy, antibiotic hysteria just dying to tell us, innocent us, about that nasty hole in the asphalt (it could twist your ankle!), the two-block deep gaping maw of a unbuilt hotel (did you notice?), the freshly-planted cherry tree in the middle of a barren field (careful!).

I give you true-to-life photographs, with the goal of sadistically nailing a FedEx-arrow awareness of their ubiquitous Chicken Littleism as firmly to your psyche as to mine. (Where do they come from?)

They're everywhere; I can assure you of this.