September 24, 2013
In Salem everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught pt. 1
Today at 9 AM I will be waiting to stand in front of the judge in my finest suit and hair that’s been thoughtfully tamed out of respect for this Judicial system. I’m facing a charge of O.U.I. and lewd behavior. One of the last original rabble rousers from the infamous Ludlow East St. Crew, here I stand at 32, alone but never nervous. Why should I be? I took a leak where I thought nobody could see and I stumbled into my car to listen to my Rod Stewart mix CD. Next thing I know I’m being woken by aggressive knocks to my window and a cop duo loudly instructing me to open my door. I sat there quiet for a second, trying to think. “What’s happening right now? What’s next?” Trying to cover all bases ya know? But the cops wouldn’t relent and again loudly rapped on the driver’s side and yelled for me to remove my keys and step out now! In my brown state all I could do was stare at the cops and make a face that read “What’s the problem?”
That look sent the male officer back to his car muttering the word un-compliant into his walkie -talkie and I unfortunately knew what comes after that conversation. Shit was going to get real heavy in about 3 minutes. I turned down the stereo that was now blasting “Young Turks” by Rod Stewart and gave one final “here we go” exhale and opened the door and waited for the abrupt free-for-all grab party that was surely about to commence and wouldn’t you know it, four hands instantly started grasping at my sleeves, collar, hair and neck as they pulled me from the Toyota. I was frisked, cuffed and led roughly down the street to a waiting squad car where they threw me sideways on to the cold unforgiving plastic “seat/board.” I landed on my left side but felt nothing. I watched in the rear view as they went through the car like 4 spoiled brats who were tipped off prior to an Easter egg hunt.
Opening the trunk, it would have appeared, to the common citizen, that they expected to find a hoard of illegals with bleeding cold sores and not a golf bag and beach towel. Naturally, I didn’t have anything that would make these sadists cream, just a pint of rum that to this day, I don’t know where it came from but hell, it’s mine now. I kept asking for my shoes that were on the passenger side floor after I took them off before a twisted early morning beach walk. Long story short, after sleeping in cell #2 I was called in front of the judge with surfer hair, Adidas warm ups, a vintage tee and filthy feet. A real fuck boy costume. Seems like everyone was taken aback by my lack of foot cover which strengthens my opinion that nothing really wild happens in Salem save for a barefoot hangover case trying to stand up straight at 9:30 am. That should make for some mighty fine supper conversation.
After a lot of weird noise and quiet questions I was let out on my own recognizance with a court date to reappear Sept 24. Today is that day. Wish me luck. Curse me to hurt. Us against them for sure. I wonder how the DA takes his morning latte….
More on this shameful justice tomorrow, granted I’m not State Property.
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