The in-law apartment on Pond St. was my eighth address.
I was on my seventh car, a red ‘71 Plymouth Barracuda, and working my eighth job.
I had just become a dedicated shoe-dog selling men’s shoes at Filene’s in Braintree.
I was no Billy Mays, but I wasn’t Al Bundy either.
I was selling a lot of shoes.
The only thing consistent in my life at the time was my girlfriend.
When I got to the train station, only a few others were waiting impatiently like me.
I hurried toward the platform and eagerly watched for her to get off the train.
She got off the train with a big smile on her face.
She smiled 99.9 % of the time.
She was a happy, well-adjusted person with great parents who provided her with a great childhood.
Susan went inside to be with her mother, who was so happy to see her home safely.
He had a wood stove, plenty of firewood, and some good weed.
Peter’s father installed septic systems in town, and he and Irv worked together a lot.
Peter’s bungalow was small, and the wood stove kept the place toasty warm.
Peter turned on a boom box and brought out some weed.
We got high, and it was great being inside, out of the snow, with friends.
After a while, we all had the munchies.
Then he reached into the cupboard and grabbed an unopened package of vanilla creme-filled sandwich cookies.
The cheap no-name brand.
The kind you get twice as much for half the price.
But then something odd happened… Pete wasn’t sharing his cookies with anyone.
What a selfish prick!
After that, we called Irv, and he came and picked us up.
I went to the Norwood unemployment office and stood in a long, slow-moving line.
I got my check and $50 worth of food stamps and left quickly.
I couldn’t see her until the last second.
I stomped on my brakes and missed hitting her by mere inches.
She was feisty and gave me the unadulterated version of what for.
I let her have the moment, even apologized, and then proceeded on my way.
No crime, no foul…
Suddenly, a black ‘67 Ford Galaxy 500 appeared behind me.
He had his left hand on the wheel and pointed at me to pull over with his right.
“Who the fuck is this guy?
Was he trying to make a citizen’s arrest because an elderly woman walked out into traffic without looking?
The faster he went, the faster I went, and I outran him.
I got home from work, had supper, and called Susan, who was back in school.
While we were on the phone, there was a knock at the door.
It was the guy in the black Ford Galaxie.
He identified himself and told me to go to the Norwood police station immediately.
He said because I almost hit an elderly woman and then failed to stop for a police officer.
He claimed he was holding his badge in his free hand and showing it to me.
I said,“Policeman?
You weren’t in uniform or a police car, and you never showed me a fucking badge.
He was pissed, and he had an obvious hard-on for me…
When I got down to the station, they threw the book at me.
If I wanted to keep my driver’s license and my job, I needed a fucking lawyer!
To be continued…
*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…
