So I’m off tonight, no gig, no students, a house full of dogs, so I secure everybody and jump on my bike to go grab a few groceries at a small local c-store a coupla miles from my house.
On my way back I cross Airport Blvd. eastbound on Manor, and right in front of this bright yellow bar on the NE corner, right there in the driveway, this girl — young woman? hard to say, exactly — white girl, blue jeans, dirty, just filthy — is on her hands and knees, forehead on the asphalt driveway of the bar, sobbing. Just wailing, in agony. I immediately wheel over and say, are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance? — but she just wails, so I ask her again, and she stumbles to her feet, terrified, and runs away from me. I ride after her, slow, trying to reassure her, but she is shrieking in panic, and staggers away from me again. She’s getting closer to Airport and Manor, and she’s so out of it I’m worried I’m gonna run her into harm’s way in a very busy intersection (two hours earlier, chasing an insane and untrained puppy I was worrying about the same thing), so instead of following her any more, I speed up to the bar’s entrance, where a bunch of guys are standing there, watching.
Have you got a phone, man, has anybody called the cops?
And these lunkhead motherfuckers just stare at me, so I say, lemme borrow a phone, I left without my cell.
Nothing. Motherfuckers!
So I see two guys standing in front of an adjoining business — they’re watching the drama, too, and one of them is wearing rent a cop threads, so I shoot over there.
Man, you got a phone, call the cops, that girl is fucked up.
Naw, man.
Naw what? You ain’t got a phone?
Naw, I ain’t calling the cops.
Well, let ME call the cops, let me use your cell, man.
Naw.
Why not? I say. I’m losing my temper. 30 yards away, and I can hear her wail.
It’s not on our property, it’s none of our business.
CALL THE FUCKING COPS! WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? AIN’T YOU GOT A MOMMA?
Hey, fuck you, man, don’t talk about my momma.
Jesus Christ! I fly over
(no more than a couple of minutes have gone by. It’s a beautiful late afternoon. The moon is almost full, the sun is almost down)
to the pay phone. We still have them, in my neighborhood. Of course, this one is dangling, cut. Screaming at these fucking assholes one last time
CALL THE FUCKING COPS
I pedal home as fast as I can. The flat, indifferent stares of those fucking idiots is giving added strength to my already pretty fucking strong legs, and I get home in minutes, and call 911.
I describe the main stuff first, of course, and dispatch says, white girl, black top, blue jeans, Airport and Manor?
I say, yeah, thank god, you got her, huh?
He says yeah, we just got the call, and I’m still breathing hard, and I need to tell somebody, so I lay it all out, and he says,
man, you would not believe
