| "It Never Sleeps" | ||
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June 13, 2008 Midtown Manhattan, New York City 1 AM forward My job sucks sometimes. Most times it doesn't, but right now it's sucking. I've been sitting here forever. Not forever, because that's impossible, but two hours. Good lord what I would do for the traffic lights to go out at the corner and a nice big wreck take place. Maybe a robbery. A shooting. Cat stuck in a tree. I chuckle out loud at that last thought...like there's any trees around here. Well, Central Park, but who cares about that? Sure there are those weird types that blade and ride their bikes around the Park and claim they love the outdoors. Pfft. Bunch of $400 mountain bike riding faggots I say. They wouldn't know the great outdoors if it came and bit them in their asses. You want the great outdoors? Try rock climbing in Canada in the middle of the fucking winter! That's the fucking great outdoors right there. Fucking Central Park...fuck them. Fuck them and their stupid expensive bikes they ride around on. I scowl and try not to think about the Dinks and the Yuppies that occupy a good portion of my city. I try to stretch out my legs in the cramped front seat. I really need to stretch my legs. I know what I have to do. I shouldn't leave my car but damn, I really need to stretch. And sleep. What I would do now for some sleep. I see the little bodega up at the corner. Won't take me that long right? I steal a glance at the club as I get out of my undercover car, or U-car as the cops like to call them, and head for the bodega. Ah, New York City. It's a wonderful town, don't you think? It never sleeps. Ever. There is always someone up, moving about, taking a subway, killing someone. That's why I'm here to catch those people that think it's okay to play god and take other people's lives. I've taken people's lives in my years on the force. But it was in self-defense, and that's different. Self-defense isn't playing god. Self-defense isn't needlessly killing someone for revenge, or some gang ritual, or because you were bored that day and had nothing better to do. Self-defense is exactly what it means - defending yourself. You may not agree, and that's fine, you're entitled to your own opinions, but it means something to me. The people I've killed have all been in self-defense. And I believe it. Just like I believe the sun will come up tomorrow, just like I believe I'm going to arrest the kid I've been tailing for two weeks. I have to believe. I have to. Because if I don't...I think I'd go crazy. I step into the bodega immediately assaulted by the smell of...food? I'm not quite sure because it's not one of those distinguishing type of odors. It's more like a mixture of really bad odors and one disinfectant type trying to cover them up. Better a snowball's chance in hell, my friend. I get my coffee. I like it with milk no sugar. Lady luck is with me tonight because I spy the little containers of cream. I usually don't like cream but I don't like the idea of milk sitting out in the open in a place like this even more. Cream it is. I rip open two of the little containers pouring their content into the black darkness of what I'm starting to wonder is even coffee at all. Has to be, it came from the coffee pot after all. I smile at the cashier who looks a lot more like an illegal alien then a bodega store owner. Stereotyping, yeah, I know it's not all politically correct and shit but when you've been tooling about this city as long as I have, and you've seen what I've seen, then you can call me a racist, or a bigot, or whatever the hell you want. But until then, he looks like an illegal alien. 'Sure is,' I answer his question of 'nice weather outside' and offer up another smile and a nod. Not that I'm being nice because I'm actually quite indifferent when it comes to strangers, I smile because I think it's funny that he has no idea I'm a cop. The only way you can tell who's a cop around this place and who's not is if they're wearing a navy blue uniform with a shiny golden badge proudly displayed on their chest. If not - you never can tell. You could, if you really wanted to, you could walk down any street in the city wearing neon green tights, an orange t-shirt, blue mohawk, and piercings in every inch of skin on your body - you could if you wanted to - and you'd be lucky if you got a few glances. That's how it is here in the city - anything goes. I walk back to my car, the department's car, the U-car, and get in. The club still has a line outside. What the hell's wrong with these people, standing in line for hours to get in only to drink watered down booze, risk epileptic seizures with the lights, and listen to bad music? What the fuck? We didn't do that shit when I was kid. Oh yeah, I smile, we did. Disco's were cool though, good music, classics. Not like the shit nowadays. Not that I don't listen to the shit nowadays, you've got to if you want to keep up with what's being said on the street. God, if you didn't understand the language, the street talk, the street talk in different areas you were fucked. You should just hang up the old gun sling and call it a career. Once you were out of the loop you might as well just kill yourself and save the taxpayers some money on the investigation. Investigation. Not unlike this one. A little over a month I've been working on it. Another murder in the city that never sleeps. I told you that, right? That this city never sleeps? It doesn't. Ever. Return |
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