April 3rd, 2003


(no subject)

About 5 minutes ago I was in the back of a police car. I hate police cars.

I went to the Thrill Kill Kult/ Pigface Concert at Numbers, and it was an okay show. I bought a CD and shirt, and I think I left both there. dammit.

Anyway, it took about an hour to find the damned highway home, and I get all the way onto the island when I see the flashing lights. Which is bad, because I've had 5 jack&cokes. Anyway it gets worse when they find my concealed pistol. oops. So I'm getting the standard 50 questions/minute and frisked (which strangely felt good) and they put me in the back while they investigate the report of me hitting the 'guardrail 5 times' which is of course nonsense. So they 'cut me a break', of course, since I learned at 13 to say "yes sir officer" and be polite and curteous" no matter how much I probably smell of Bar.

It was really a shock when they asked if I'd been in a fight and I looked down and remembered I'd passed out in the dirt for an hour and got dirtstains on my shirt. And my pants were somehow undone.. I'm sure they loved that part.
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