Sunday, July 18th, 2010...6:24 pm
Cops At The Door
There’s a banging on my door.
I ignore it.
It’s loud and insistent. It towers over the massive sound of the music pumping through my personal space.
I’m pissed (yeah, both ways).
It’s 4pm on a Sunday.
I put up with shit neighbors and their nonsense all week.
But Sunday is my day to howl.
And, baby, I fucking howl!
I go to the door. I open the door. It’s a six foot seven cop looking angry, really angry.
I’m really angry too.
Isn’t your music too loud?
No, and what are you doing banging on my door?
We could arrest you.
Actually, no, no you couldn’t, the only one doing anything wrong here is you.
You’re drunk.
It’s my space; it’s none of your bloody business…
***
And then I hear my name.
Quietly. From the side. Hey, she says.
I’m looking at the Munster’s partner, a 5 foot 5 blond, gorgeous.
And I’ve seen her before.
At work.
Her partner and I are in major fuming mode but, OMG, she yelps to her brain dead partner, this is the guy I’ve told you about! He’s created this environment that is incredible, we send cops to spend a day with him b/c of the way he eliminated crime from his workplace.
She stops.
I’m in a t-shirt, boxers and gold socks with the toes worn out.
The boxers have one button. A button that I’m praying I have done up after my last piss. Cause, drunk, it’s often too laborious a task.
Okay, she saids. Look, we’re sorry, we had complaints but I promise I’ll take your name off our register.
She turns back, on her way out, and says, play your music as loud as you like, and smiles.
I’m afraid to look down. Is that button fastened? Please, please…
The entire conversation may well have taken place with my hornswaggle gulping for, and finding, air.
Her partner, all hideous and unreasonable violence, smirks.
I find a new level of volume and let the whole block hear “Bad Romance”…
It’s Sunday, and it’s my time to howl…
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