Impressions

ImpressionsI got a jay walking ticket for being newand ignored the bench warrantthen went about my life as alwaysuntil I got pulled over for my California plates.So the cop must have thought I was an expatriatewhat else would I be doing in Seattleso he patted me down and took me downtownand locked me in a holding cell with the restof the freaks.Standing there my neck started to achelooking up at the mounted television screentrying not to make eye contactlest they think I was being friendly.Up at the television down at the floorstanding in the corner of the cellknowing I wouldn’t make bailbecause I rented a couch from a preacher and his wife.One guy was yelling it was crowdedas the hours passed I almost pulled aside one deputyto say there must be some mistakeI was jay walking I didn’t shoot the sheriffbut I thought the better of it, I could just see myselftrading stories with what I thought might be hardened criminalssaying what you in for Budoh, I ignored the flashing red lightand didn’t run like hell.Thirteen hours in a holding cell laterat one o’clock in the morning they let me out.No busses running thirty miles from my carinto the downtown Seattle streets.A girl being let out at the same timehaving finished thirty days for prostitutionstretched her legs and befriended meand we walked out into the dark.We walked around awhile, she only craved the rockas we walked to her block and rounded the cornershe said this is my place and these are my peoplegathered around an Oldsmobile Cutlassthey gave her a wave and me a strange somewhat hungry lookso I bid her goodbye and thanks for the companyput my hands in my pockets and gathered my changefor it jangled loudly in my pockets and echoed off the buildings.I noticed someone following meI’ve no sixth sense I could hear his footstepshitting the pavement just after minestaying just out of sight as I clung to the streetlightswhen I passed by a local bara man was tossed out the front dooran indian guy who’d had one too many to pay forhe dusted himself off and joined me on my lonely curcuit.You’re here for what?He asked mehe laughed and said that’s thirty miles from here.Come on let’s get some coffeethe busses don’t run for two more hours.So we just sat and talked until five o’clocksort of a Tom Waits evening falling awayexhausted I made it back to my carwith nearly twenty four hours gone by.The preacher laughed at me when I told him the storythat’s quite a lot of impressions you made there sonnext time look both ways.

Impressions

bill bell

Everett, United States

  • Artwork Comments 4

Artwork Comments

  • Susan Vinson
  • bill bell
  • Susan Vinson
  • bill bell
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