At the start of my shift, I picked up my walkie-talkie. Feeling sleepy, I thought I’d drop by my apartment for a nap. I had become adept at sleeping lightly, waking when my radio number was called. Over the radio, some crazy shit was going down. Four black males driving a white Cadillac had robbed a Maxwell Street grill with an uzi. A fuckin uzi. Fifteen minutes passed. The jibber-jabber on my radio got quiet. Too quiet. I did a radio check: Dead battery. Tired, and not thinking clearly, I WALKED back to the police station. A block from the station I noticed a white car. The four occupants were looking at me. The car make? Cadillac. Did I mention they were black? I couldn’t exactly radio for help. Besides, I’m not sure the cops were too keen on rumbling with an uzi.
Maybe they were done laughing at my 1970’s silver satin student patrol disco jacket with a red badge stamped on the front. More likely they realized how retarded they were for hanging around a police station. Who knows…but something suddenly inspired them to leave in a hurry. Despite my soiled undercrackers, it felt good to be alive and bullet free. I was wide awake for the rest of the night.
Saturday, November 25, 2006 9:35 PMnoise wrote:
Paper Lace's original "The Night Chicago Died" was one of my favorite songs as a small child in the early 70s. I was lying in bed a few nights ago when the memory of the song came to me. The next day, I found the cover version in your blog. Coincidences like this make me shiver. Reply to this
