Minori
11-05-2007, 02:02 AM
Before you read on, I'd like to note that it's not the most pleasant of stories, but it's my story and it's also a true story. I should have separated it in paragraphs, but yeah.. (Language was edited out.)
I hope you enjoy.
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"Give me my stuff!"
"You're hurting me!"
I looked at the clock on my cell phone, it's 5:30 AM. Tired and jolted out of a dream I sit there for a moment trying to make heads or tails of what is going on. The fight escalates and finally I get up and move to the girls room to determine if they are okay, and not disturbed by the fighting. They are, so I creep to the window and peer out of one of the holes in the blinds. After what seems like an eternity of screaming punctuated by "Get off of me!" I hear some of the neighbors calling the cops. I'm not sure at this point of I should be relieved or concerned that they will blame it on me, but the neighbors are standing outside gawking like it's a four oh' clock show and they are the stars. I figure what the hell, if they are, I can too, so I sneak back into the living room and part the curtains, staring outside. After a few moments here comes Johnny Law and he's pissed someone disturbed his morning coffee and donuts breakfast because he's got his gun pulled and isn't taking no guff from anyone. After cuffing the couple, who for the most part seem rather unharmed for the hour of screaming and fighting, he tries to take stock of what has happened. Not one, or two, or three, but four cops more show up to assist their buddies in determining what has happened, not that anyone can't clearly see that it's a case of domestic dispute. I'm suddenly reminded of those sick jokes of how many --- does it take to screw in a light bulb, but my silly giggles are quelled by the fact that although there is now a small army of police in the parking lot, it's actually more harmful than helpful, mostly with a bunch of sleepy cops in a bad neighborhood. They finally end up releasing the couple to go on with their dreary existence of domestic rabbling, and although they're completely done, the cops have decided that the parking lot is a really great place to gather and shoot the breeze. I'm reminded by my stomach that cops aren't usually friendly to my ilk, regardless of my now clean record, the insides of it shooting acid like it's a fourth of july party and I'm the guest of honor. I lay in bed, but can't help myself but to get up and keep looking, hoping that the next peek from my window will find them gone. I can almost feel new ulcers growing on my stomach lining with promises of future pain that no antacid will be able to heal, but the quiet sleeping noises of the girls help to calm me just a little.
Two of them are still out there; parked side to side, having a pleasant conversation I can only imagine at this point. "How's the hookers on tenth, Johnny?" My lips curl up in a smile, even though their presence is like an open wound, a gift that keeps on giving I suppose.
I hope you enjoy.
--------
"Give me my stuff!"
"You're hurting me!"
I looked at the clock on my cell phone, it's 5:30 AM. Tired and jolted out of a dream I sit there for a moment trying to make heads or tails of what is going on. The fight escalates and finally I get up and move to the girls room to determine if they are okay, and not disturbed by the fighting. They are, so I creep to the window and peer out of one of the holes in the blinds. After what seems like an eternity of screaming punctuated by "Get off of me!" I hear some of the neighbors calling the cops. I'm not sure at this point of I should be relieved or concerned that they will blame it on me, but the neighbors are standing outside gawking like it's a four oh' clock show and they are the stars. I figure what the hell, if they are, I can too, so I sneak back into the living room and part the curtains, staring outside. After a few moments here comes Johnny Law and he's pissed someone disturbed his morning coffee and donuts breakfast because he's got his gun pulled and isn't taking no guff from anyone. After cuffing the couple, who for the most part seem rather unharmed for the hour of screaming and fighting, he tries to take stock of what has happened. Not one, or two, or three, but four cops more show up to assist their buddies in determining what has happened, not that anyone can't clearly see that it's a case of domestic dispute. I'm suddenly reminded of those sick jokes of how many --- does it take to screw in a light bulb, but my silly giggles are quelled by the fact that although there is now a small army of police in the parking lot, it's actually more harmful than helpful, mostly with a bunch of sleepy cops in a bad neighborhood. They finally end up releasing the couple to go on with their dreary existence of domestic rabbling, and although they're completely done, the cops have decided that the parking lot is a really great place to gather and shoot the breeze. I'm reminded by my stomach that cops aren't usually friendly to my ilk, regardless of my now clean record, the insides of it shooting acid like it's a fourth of july party and I'm the guest of honor. I lay in bed, but can't help myself but to get up and keep looking, hoping that the next peek from my window will find them gone. I can almost feel new ulcers growing on my stomach lining with promises of future pain that no antacid will be able to heal, but the quiet sleeping noises of the girls help to calm me just a little.
Two of them are still out there; parked side to side, having a pleasant conversation I can only imagine at this point. "How's the hookers on tenth, Johnny?" My lips curl up in a smile, even though their presence is like an open wound, a gift that keeps on giving I suppose.