Dem Po-leece

I thought it was drunks at first, a taxi perhaps. Voices, stern and grizzly, infused with the humour of sleep deprivation and a moral reasoning to back up the hard quality that comes from not being touched enough by mummy – or too much by daddy.

I apologise. I know, I’m ridiculous, but I’ve had my fair share of cruel run-ins with the Filth and only been saved once; I was abroad and if I’m honest that gang deserved to stomp me after what I did to their car. What’s my point? I don’t know, piss off with your questions.

The Police in their wagon; the heavy drone of an idling diesel engine; tinted glass in the back but I could see the light from a mobile screen reflect off their jackets. I was patient, I opened my window a crack more to watch them and took a few photos. They noticed the red-eye light of the camera and shifted uncomfortably at the incredulous figure observing them.

After a while they put the thing in gear and growled off. Maybe I imagined it but I could have sworn I heard a grumble.

I’m listening to the Velvet Underground. I haven’t smoked anything in years and I know It wouldn’t do me much good but I’d love a few good hits on a joint right about now.

I don’t suppose you have any, do you?

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