Someday, I'll be interrogated downtown in a police station room with one of those one-way mirror thingies.

They won't give me my one phone call. I'll tell them I don't smoke so they'll chain-smoke to break me. There will be a chubby cop, a skinny one and one that has just one more week on the beat b/c he's "getting too old for this."

They'll demand things.

I'll say I want my lawyer present.

I don't have a lawyer so I stall.

Stalling leads to sweating.

Sweating leads to thirst.

No water, they say.

"Just give it up." "Tell us." "Give us answers!!" "You're looking at 15 to 20, bucko!" "You are one sick puppy!" "I'm taking you down. Down to Chinatown."
They'll pass me a pen. And a piece of paper. And I'll scrawl one single web address on it. They'll type it into their cruddy police computer. And I'll be free. Because they will finally know what actually drove me over the edge. Bonafide insane. In the membrane.

Don't follow this link. Seriously. You'll regret it.

(courtesy of Bunny McIntosh)

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 05, 2005 at 5:42 PM. You can skip to the end and leave a response.