2011年11月1日 "Shut the fuck up"

This was the third or forth time I've had a pistol, uh and one time rifle, pointed at me. This of course excludes the times I was threatened, whether I had the badge or not. I wasn't sure what else to make of it. What else should I make of this?

"You've got my attention."

"Money." Wow well, at least we have some sort of dialog.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who has money?" I quipped back.

I actually shouldn't have said that, since I was dressed significantly more respectable than the homely-looking man with a gun.

"I'll shoot you."
"You know what, if you're going to shoot, shoot. Otherwise, I've got work to do."  

Although I did have work, I could only think about what bourbon I had left on my desk. I actually felt like I have the authority to say that, as it wasn't like I had a family or anything, and it wasn't like I was in control. He has the gun. It's his move. It's not my fault if he tightens his hand around the grip and trigger. I hope they serve beer in hell. My thoughts drifted as I turned away from him. Why bother with work tonight? And I started walking towards my office. 

I can only remember pain from behind, and whiting out. Or was it blacking out? Either way, things went dark quickly. I woke up damp and cold, still on the sidewalk, and with - no surprise here - people passing me as if nothing happened. Not like blood coming from the back of someone's head means anything... The worst part was when I felt the freedom of my toes wiggling. That son-of-a-bitch took my goddamn shoes.

I was pissed off for two reasons, or maybe it was the only two I could come up with. My shoes were missing, obviously stolen, and now I had to waste time going to the hospital to see if I needed stitches or not. Would that bottle elude me again? I couldn't get my mind back on this week or work. I called Mose and told him I wouldn't need him to come in until Thursday. You know, if you don't care, why should you complain? An echo said from the deepest part of my brain. "I guess, I do care." I mumbled quietly as I rubbed my face. But DOES it matter? And if so, how will you make it matter?

These thoughts soon escaped me when I realized that my stitches would be done without any numbing agent. Had I known this, I would have went home to get that bottle I left on the desk first.