I May Be a Jerk, But at Least I'm Not a Cop

I heard a bang like a crashing and went to check on things in the back of the apartment. I brought the big dog with me just in case. It was a loud crashing bang.

It was snowing hard through the sliding glass window on the other side of the kids’ playroom. I peeked through the blinds to see if there was anything to see. Nothing was out there, no footprints even. Nothing. I noticed the box of Lincoln logs on the floor, tipped over. It was a minor thing but could have made the noise in a fall. I realize now that I didn’t pick it up and put it where it belonged. I’m lucky to have a girl that’s sticking with me, that’s for sure. I’ll have to clean that up when I get home tonight…

On the way back I poured a bourbon over ice. I had to get some writing done, and that’s been doing the trick lately. I kept the television on. Julie was upstairs writing with the window open, even in the storm, because she was smoking. She was also blowing the smoke out the window with a big floor fan. Christ, what a fucking jerk I am. She was probably freezing up there.

I leaned back in my chair with the laptop and starting going at it. I have no idea what was on the television. The big dog was hanging around beside me. She was happy to be of use for me, although I wondered why she didn’t go running back there when the crash happened. It probably was just that box of toys.

Then Julie poked her head down the stairway.

“There’s a bunch of cops outside. Just make sure things are put away.”

I put the grass and the pipe in a basket on the bookshelf. There’s no books on the bookshelves, but they’re painted pretty and they sure look nice. My Kerouac lineup is on the bottom recessed shelf of a desk. That’s what I get for not cleaning up and making her sit by an open window in the middle of winter with a fan blowing on her.

I tried to listen to what was going on outside but only for a minute. I knew that Julie was listening from upstairs. If she couldn’t hear anything upstairs, she’d be down soon. I knew it was a mistake to get involved with the people next door, but it was inevitable. They live so close, they’re always outside with their dog, a dying pitbull, or smoking or just fucking around. People are coming and going constantly – the kid over there sells drugs. Eventually, I needed a weed connection and in the two years we’ve been here, we still don’t know anyone. So now we’re on a first-name basis with our drug-dealing neighbors.

The cops were out there for a long time. Julie did end up coming downstairs to get a better ear on the scene. She moved right up against the door to listen. It’s not unusual for cops to be hanging around this place. Our neighbor, the drug dealer…I don’t think he really does well in the public relations arena of his industry. He seems to be making a lot of enemies. Sometimes girls come over screaming, sometimes guys. Once there was something about a gun.

This is serious white trash ghettoland over here where we live. It wasn’t our first choice, but it turned out to be our only choice. We’ve been here for almost two years because we cant afford to get out, even though the rent for this small 3-bedroom is higher than we’d pay for a decent little house somewhere on some quiet street. Many of the residents in this complex are on federal or state assistance. These are the type of people that have kids in order to get more child support. They hang around their front doors once a week and then flock to the mailboxes when their checks come, like ducks to bread, shit sticking to their feet, squawking – they don’t care. Just get the bread, motherfuckers, and get out of my way.

Our apartment is an overpriced shitbox. The can in the downstairs bathroom is impossible to keep free of mold. I punched the wall next to the kitchen once and nearly went through it. I don’t like to bring that up, but it wasn’t my fault. Still, I feel bad about it. The sliding glass door in the back room, the playroom, has been broken since we moved here. The door, not the glass, so it’s not so bad, but it’s hard to close. We’ll certainly be charged for that, even though the handle was basically scotch-taped together when we moved in.

When the cops left we let the dogs out. I don’t like opening the door when there’s cops outside, even if I don’t have anything in my house that smells funny. Any opportunity to talk to the cops is just asking for trouble, even if you didn’t do anything wrong. When the big dog was taking a dump in the snow, the neighbor came out for a smoke. Told me that someone shot out his sliding glass window with a bb gun. The cops followed the tracks in the snow right to this guy’s house, but didn’t make any arrests.

“Fucking cops are useless,” I told him. Poor kid – he’s barely out of high school. His mom set him up with the cash to start dealing. He’s had everything handed to him, even though most of it’s been complete shit. He’ll learn in time, I suppose.

His place must be freezing, but I’m glad they hit the right house. My kids play in that playroom, for fuck’s sake. I’ll keep my door closed as long as I can. But if someone starts fucking around with the safety of my family they’d better not leave tracks in the snow. Because I already know that cops are useless.

- posted by seanmh @ 9:00 AM