Webbed Fingered

I emerged from the alley of ill repute, looked both ways, and I swear on my favourite spider plant the coast was clear, so I put my head down and started in the direction of a house that would never be called a home. Unfortunately, my driven gait, aka the crack street shuffle, was advertising to anyone within a two block radius that my demons had won yet another battle in the intractable war with my childhood, and yes, I’m the first to admit that I should have got some help in that regard, but I found the long and slender legs of the Jungian analyst I mentioned earlier much too distracting, and then of course there’s my personal  experience with Sod’s Law to consider, the sheer latitude of which, could fill the legal libraries of every university in Philadelphia, so, point being, it was just my luck that the only person in the two block radius of my crack street shuffle happened to be a young cop, and he was already smiling that sly smile some cops get when they fancy themselves future detectives, as he pulled up beside me in his cruiser, lowered his passenger window and asked me in a cunningly fraternal, if not cloying voice, where I had just come from. The rhetoric of this question lived a charmed life in the upscale neighbourhood of his eyes, which I tried to avoid but couldn’t, and when he saw the black holes of my pupils he ticked a box somewhere in the paperwork of his precinct’s ‘to serve and protect’ motto and asked me if I had anything on me. I replied in the negative and he smiled that smile again, before ordering me to give him whatever I had, or he’d drive me down to the station and have me strip searched by a webbed fingered constable. Just kidding, there was no mention of a webbed fingered constable, but there should have been, according to Sod’s law. At any rate, I knew I was snafued, so I reached into my pocket, pulled out a gram of cocaine and handed it to him, pleading my case as I did, “I’m just trying to have a little fun with my girlfriend,” I said, not expecting it to make inroads on his empathy. “I’ve got a girlfriend too,” he said as he flicked the baggie, set it down on his metal clipboard, winked, and drove away.


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