Rock and roll.
I'm so strung out.

Drawing hearts in the sandlot of a construction zone and
climbing stairs to the second story of a shell of a new townhouse.

Alone and crossing the sandlot again to leave,
too obvious as a police cruiser rolls by.

He stops.

I run the other way over ladders and bricks
when he yells, Get back here! Stop!

He sounded pretty convincing
and I thought, What the hell...Why not?

Met up with the officer and he shined a flashlight in my eyes.

I wasn't about to let him get away, so cold and impersonal like that.
And it was a good time to break down anyway.

Breakdown.

Did I mind if he smoked? No.

So there's me and a police officer standing next to his car and we had a nice little conversation about that rope I had with me and why people disappear. He kept wondering about the rope. I kept wondering why people disappear.

But there's nothing he could do to help.
He didn't know why, at all.

Two steps before turning away, he asked again if there was ANYthing he could do to help. And I look him in the eye, totally hysterical with a smile plastered on my face.

Can I bum a smoke?

And he said, Hey, sure.

Seven days before my 18th birthday and it's half-past midnight in the moonlight and I'm bumming a cigarette from a policeman.

Two points.