I had a weird dream last night
I was in the empty lobby of a police precinct, unwittingly there just to rest a moment, to calm my anxiety and collect my thoughts.
There was a faint sound of conversation in an adjacent office. "He was a white, middle-aged man on a bicycle..." were the first words I heard plainly. And it was a familiar female voice.
It's true. Minutes earlier it had been me that was flying my bike down a crowded city street, possibly causing alarm and panic, whizzing past a lady that looked a lot like a blonde TV-cop -- who, in a predictably commanding tone, screamed out, "Stop and get back here right now!"
She might not have been a cop, I thought. And even if she was who knows who she was screaming at? It felt like I was evading a cop.
Things are moving fast. Time to get out of the area. Time to assess the situation, I thought, turning a corner, ditching the bike, and stepping into the first public building I came to.
Alarmed myself now, realizing I was the subject of this field report to the authorities, I swiftly ducked away through a corridor, where I stumbled on a somewhat interesting shipping tube laying atop a trash bin. Inexplicably I swept it up to have a closer examination while on my brisk walk. But the sound of a conversation between Patricia Arquette, the actual actress, and two men I presume were a pair of detectives, caught me off guard. "That guy," Patricia said assuredly. I slowly looked up as I paused.
They gave me a silent stare that felt like minutes. I returned a look, vowing to myself not to say a word while they analyzed me. As I began to realize just how virtuous silence can be, I confidently and calmly turned and continued down the corridor. No one stopped me. I'd managed to flee the scene without incident or objection.
"Clever," I heard one of the men say as I stepped out of sight. "The only evidence is sealed by federal postal law." They must have thought I'd hidden something in the shipping tube I merely thought looked cool ... as if I'd have had the wherewithal to contemplate such a calculated maneuver. A parcel is safe harbor from search & seizure, I imagined. That, along with my instinctive silence, saved the day.
A palpable sense of relief washed over me as I climbed back onto my bike. I can only imagine the conversation that transpired amongst the trio after I'd left. Lacking a real crime, I bet the detectives dismissed Ms. Arquette with polite platitudes.
It seemed real.
There was a faint sound of conversation in an adjacent office. "He was a white, middle-aged man on a bicycle..." were the first words I heard plainly. And it was a familiar female voice.
It's true. Minutes earlier it had been me that was flying my bike down a crowded city street, possibly causing alarm and panic, whizzing past a lady that looked a lot like a blonde TV-cop -- who, in a predictably commanding tone, screamed out, "Stop and get back here right now!"
She might not have been a cop, I thought. And even if she was who knows who she was screaming at? It felt like I was evading a cop.
Things are moving fast. Time to get out of the area. Time to assess the situation, I thought, turning a corner, ditching the bike, and stepping into the first public building I came to.
Alarmed myself now, realizing I was the subject of this field report to the authorities, I swiftly ducked away through a corridor, where I stumbled on a somewhat interesting shipping tube laying atop a trash bin. Inexplicably I swept it up to have a closer examination while on my brisk walk. But the sound of a conversation between Patricia Arquette, the actual actress, and two men I presume were a pair of detectives, caught me off guard. "That guy," Patricia said assuredly. I slowly looked up as I paused.
They gave me a silent stare that felt like minutes. I returned a look, vowing to myself not to say a word while they analyzed me. As I began to realize just how virtuous silence can be, I confidently and calmly turned and continued down the corridor. No one stopped me. I'd managed to flee the scene without incident or objection.
"Clever," I heard one of the men say as I stepped out of sight. "The only evidence is sealed by federal postal law." They must have thought I'd hidden something in the shipping tube I merely thought looked cool ... as if I'd have had the wherewithal to contemplate such a calculated maneuver. A parcel is safe harbor from search & seizure, I imagined. That, along with my instinctive silence, saved the day.
A palpable sense of relief washed over me as I climbed back onto my bike. I can only imagine the conversation that transpired amongst the trio after I'd left. Lacking a real crime, I bet the detectives dismissed Ms. Arquette with polite platitudes.
It seemed real.
