Page 176 - NIXBOOK

For awhile we had an old homeless hobo with long hair and beard who wandered the streets of our town. With a Burger King
cardboard crown on his head. It was awesome.

Like every cop in the world who ever wore a gunbelt, mine would occasionally get in the way; at some point I probably banged
into every doorway or car door I regularly met at least once or twice. (If you ever look real close at the drivers side door of any
patrol car, you’ll see scratches caused by officers’ holstered guns banging into the door frame). Only once did I make the mistake
of losing spatial awareness of my right thumb when I sat down; I learned quickly that putting a hand down on a seat and then
plopping down so the holstered gun barrel smashes the thumb into the seat can cause a significantly high level of pain.

I had caught a guy driving with suspended drivers license. I called a tow truck to impound his car. He got so mad he threw his
cell phone onto the pavement, exactly like a quarterback spiking a football. But really mad, not happy. He was about 3 feet away
from me. It was mildly alarming for a moment, but then he calmed down.

The ranting drunk man on his house balcony overlooking the street, disturbing the peace. The neighbors called on him. I walk
up the house and look up at him. He yelled out to me “FUCK!.. THE!..” And I of course thought for sure he was going to say
“POLICE!” but instead he caught me off guard and ended instead with, because he was pretty drunk: “BRITISH!”