Some of you don’t know that I was a cop for twenty-two years and then I got out. I didn’t love the job, but there’s a couple or three things I miss. I’d be on a call, for example, and there’d be too many of us officers hanging about to really do much good for anyone, and then I’d see this one old cop called Mitch, who kind of resembled a potbelly stove in his uniform—all black—bodied and round, hanging back and just taking the whole scene in. Then he’d get this wry expression around his eyes and mouth, and he’d just shuffle back away from the crowd, get in his car, and beat it the nearest way out of there. Continue reading “Mitch’s Fine Stew”
In the not too distant future, but also not today . . .
The kid hated the city. Everything was so dark and poor. He lived in a shitty neighborhood, but at least you could go outside at night if you didn’t go too far. He checked the GPS on his phone, hoping it wouldn’t get knocked out of his hand by some invisible homeless person.
He prayed that he looked intimidating in his dark coat and low-brimmed hat, but anyone that was less than half-polluted could tell he was just a frightened little punk. The GPS told him to make a right turn down the alley. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Continue reading “The Circumventors – We’re Coming to Your Town”
My forefathers saturated what were once pristine fields of this great nation with the blood of British regulars. It’s a fine proud history for the birth of any republic. The French did it differently. The French stormed a fortress guarded by old soldiers who had been permanently disfigured in combat. The French rounded up every fop with a patch and powdered wig and made them kneel under a blade. Continue reading “Music for a Revolution”