Streetside

Streetside

A young man stands on a street corner in a picturesque suburban neighborhood. Its mid-day and birds are chirping as the echo of children’s laughter fills the dewy summer air. The houses all have manicured lawns that match there model home façade and luxury car accessories. The young man jumps off his concrete perch as grass sprinklers pop up out of the ground cascading down a light mist of life giving water to quench the afternoon heat. The young man now standing on the road seems to have little interest in the world around him. His mind is grinding cogs and sprockets with a most impatient look adorning his face, he checks his diamond encrusted watch with expectant fervor. This young man is about 5’10” with a short beard and mustache on his sun-kissed face and two gold earrings on his left ear. His ethnicity is of Latin descent and his hair is short jet black with the letter “W” buzzed into the back. His clothes are baggy as they follow the style of his peers.

He peers down the road with a squint as if he could look over the rippled heat struck horizon if he thought hard enough. His stare is interrupted by the chiming jingle of a rap melody- it’s his cellular phone. He flips it open, “What’s up?” He listens for a moment and then retorts,” Look essay you need to get here now, you hear me holmes?” He pauses to listen to the callers’ response as he furls his brow in angst. “Man you got to get me out of here, if you don’t get me now I ain’t gunna make it, I don’t wanna go in the house again essay.” He listens once more to the caller and then ends the conversation with a “Later holmes.”

His anxiety begins to unnerve him so he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes with the label Cool Camel on them. He flips the pack open revealing a few cigarettes and one marijuana joint, he looks right past the nicotine sticks and claims the joint instead. Joint now in mouth he looks around the neighborhood making sure no one can see him. He pats his pockets in search of lighter almost in a panic until he realizes he has matches in his breast pocket. He nervously fidgets with the matchbook nearly dropping it. He manages to break off and light one matchstick which he gleefully draws to the aromatic spliff in his mouth. He inhales deeply as he exhales a sigh of joyous angst relief. A loud dog bark cracks from a few houses down causing him to jump in the sounds direction; he shakes off the jumpiness with a smirk as he turns back around.

Two police SWAT vans roll up right in front of our young man with doobie in mouth. His jaw drops in awe as the suited officers fly out of the vans in black fatigues with sub-machine guns raised. Our young man simply exclaims, “Shit son.” The young man stretches his hand out in front of himself in submission as the still lit joint dangles from his lower lip. “I didn’t do nothing, I’m sorry for smokin’ this reefer here son!” The SWAT teams just power right past the stunned young man and approach the front of the house he was standing in front of. A man in his fifties steps out from the driver side door of a SWAT van with a megaphone. The pot bellied man in his pinstriped shirt and slacks approaches the curb and wipes his forehead which seems to never end as it draws to his horse shoe hair line. The man announces in a firm voice,” We know your in there Bill Enron, come out now or we’re coming in!” The man drops the megaphone from his face and turns his head toward a crouched sniper next to him,” If this jerk-off so much as looks the wrong way, put one between his eyes.”

The man then turns around to the still awestruck onlooker, “Hey, kid maybe you should get behind a van this one could get messy.” Our young man with a joint still clasping to his lower lip and eyes wide in paralyzed disbelief manages to utter three words to the dead-set officer. ”What’d he do?” The cops face went smug as he signaled to the house behind with his thumb,” This punk is some CEO and screwed some hard workin people outta a lotta dough.” The brazen officer then turned around and motioned to the positioned SWAT officers to bust into the abode. With a smash of a battering ram and a pop of a flash-bang grenade the SWAT teams filed into the house. The beefy officer chuckled at the earnest precision of his team as our young man began to walk down the street in a daze about what just happened.

An SUV pulls up to our young man and the driver rolls down his window to get his attention, the driver yells, “HEY!” causing our young man to jump in fear. “Yo essay are you getting in or what? Marina is gunna put you in the dog house son. If you miss your son’s birth” The young mans memory kicks into gear and he runs around the side of the vehicle and jumps in the passenger seat. The driver looks over to him,”Shit son, did you piss your pants holmes? Don’t be getting that on the leather. And what’s with the 21 Jump street all over that house?” The young man turns to the confused driver and says,” Holmes, I ain’t ever workin in no office, they treat those essays harsh on the law.” The driver grins as he looks the young man in the face,” Whatever holmes, just pass that doobie already.”