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My readers may recall my encounter, earlier this year, with a man down the street who shouted obscenities at me because I walked across the front of his driveway while he was turning off his car. This had been my 2nd or 3rd encounter of this kind with the fellow. He generally gives me dirty looks if I walk by his house when he’s on the porch, and has cursed at me in the past.
This morning at 6:25 AM, I was walking up the street and saw some people on his front lawn. I was afraid I’d have to walk through them. One them turned around, I was sort of surprised to see it was a policeman carrying an MP5 submachine gun. The people on the lawn were a mix of plainclothes officers, and tactical unit officers in full armour, carrying shotguns and submachine guns.
When I got to the corner, I saw there were a variety of police vehicles parked here and there, and maybe a dozen policemen in plainclothes, tactical armour, and ordinary uniforms. One of the tactical officers was a middle-aged man with a big grey “Sergeant Major Moustache.” He looked like he’d jumped off the cover of a Boy’s Own Annual adventure digest, and then got drafted into the Schutzstaffel.
There were also some policemen inside the house. They seemed fairly casual about the whole business, and myself and another early morning commuter walked right through them. As I approached, they led out the person they’d arrested. He was wearing handcuffs and jean shorts and nothing else. It was not Creepy Angry Guy, but rather a man I assume to be his father. He was about 50, bald, fat, tattooed, and silently angry. So, I walk briskly past. At the end of the street, I saw Creepy Angry Guy himself. He was squatting in an alleyway between a house and an empty storefront, muttering and smoking.
I’m torn between a sort of feeling of epicaricacy and the feeling that maybe we should move to a different neighbourhood someday.
This morning at 6:25 AM, I was walking up the street and saw some people on his front lawn. I was afraid I’d have to walk through them. One them turned around, I was sort of surprised to see it was a policeman carrying an MP5 submachine gun. The people on the lawn were a mix of plainclothes officers, and tactical unit officers in full armour, carrying shotguns and submachine guns.
When I got to the corner, I saw there were a variety of police vehicles parked here and there, and maybe a dozen policemen in plainclothes, tactical armour, and ordinary uniforms. One of the tactical officers was a middle-aged man with a big grey “Sergeant Major Moustache.” He looked like he’d jumped off the cover of a Boy’s Own Annual adventure digest, and then got drafted into the Schutzstaffel.
There were also some policemen inside the house. They seemed fairly casual about the whole business, and myself and another early morning commuter walked right through them. As I approached, they led out the person they’d arrested. He was wearing handcuffs and jean shorts and nothing else. It was not Creepy Angry Guy, but rather a man I assume to be his father. He was about 50, bald, fat, tattooed, and silently angry. So, I walk briskly past. At the end of the street, I saw Creepy Angry Guy himself. He was squatting in an alleyway between a house and an empty storefront, muttering and smoking.
I’m torn between a sort of feeling of epicaricacy and the feeling that maybe we should move to a different neighbourhood someday.
