[All apologies will be accepted — And otherwise confirmed with the Spy versus the other Spy — Plain and Simple all violence rejected — So much for the Tortured Reaffirmed — Yet to other wise to do it or Die. — What the whatever the why. — Linking backward — a doggone Doggerel Day on the fly,
Of course the further away we get from our incarceration the more interesting a relatively boring day will become. On the other hand by drafting the day, some events will become more clear. Like when Ski Cop asked us if we were local and what other places we have lived. When I innocently ran down a list of places where I have lived, I was unaware the information was to check for outstanding warrants.
When my Android was taken from me and I asked that the power be turned off to preserve the battery and an officer held the phone in front of me taunting as he didn't quite power down. The insidious nature of "Protect and Serve" --
And time passed while waiting on the metal bench, watching the litter be kicked back and forth -- Silly self-important people walking to and fro, mostly uniformed -- Little self respect and less awareness of the environment where they spent a great deal of their lives, sharing with criminals -- The life of Why. Next time we're going to die there. I was soon escorted into a side room, with a young man uniformed thusly -- 'I Work for the State," he said to me, "Why are you wearing a Hawaiian shirt."
"I was working in the Worm Garden," I answered. "They parked on my hose." I thought I would be photographed and finger printed there but whether or not anything like that happened, it wasn't the official ritual. My bagged property was merely inventoried:
I really don't know who that Piaskwski person is. Does that mean anything? Or is this some kind of a joke? Shortly thereafter I was hand-cuffed to a counter at numbered window where I had seen the other white guy earlier and he had since vanished into thin air. Sometime in passing I actually saw another white guy being ushered through the somewhat system who looked as though he had slept in a Dumpster. The woman on the other side of the window questioned the cash total that the young man had come up with and then quickly concurred after she discovered that the three coins she believed to be nickels were actually dimes. When My receipt for property inventory was given to me, I was pleased to see I had Five Dollars and thirty cents on my person and couldn't be charged as a vagrant. I folded the receipt and put it in my "Sad Old Man" pant's pocket. Got to use the phone for two minutes. Cell phone lacking -- recalled: Julia's work and the old timer lawyer's office. I actually believed that there was something that someone could do to get me the fuck out of there. The process doesn't allow for any such expedience. I still hadn't been booked so to speak.
I was then led to a small compartment with a locking sliding metal door, a stainless steel toilet and a connecting stainless steel spigot and fountain. Kurt Vonnegut was there too, still waiting on some judgment on his ten year old warrant for Failure to Appear -- Ten years ago. It doesn't just go away. We were soon joined by the dumpster guy, Boris Badenuff -- Obviously a Russian Spy. Boris was scripted on his shirt pocket. "This isn't my shirt." he said, "It belongs to my Boss."
"Yeah, sure." I answered. -->>Sullivan Duda