Officer Stinson dropped by. Again.
“I warned you. No bonfires.”
I was drunk. “Stinson,” I said, “you ain’t shit without that badge and that gun.”
Stinson put his badge and gun on the passenger seat, then locked the cruiser. He walked at me, greeted me with a gut-punch. I spat foamy puke, buckled. His rib-work left me airless in piss-soaked jeans.
I attempted, “I’ll put it out,” but only gurgled.
Stinson’s arms got tired. It was over. I sat up.
Then he started kicking me.
Later, badge and gun back on, Stinson arrested me.
Downtown, neither of us said a word.