We come up that really steep side street near our house, with the long hood of the cougar seemingly pointed at the stars. We crest the top of the hill and the headlights freeze frame a strange little moment in time. There's a guy and a woman in the middle of the road. The woman is screaming and crawling on the ground and the guy is trying to gather her up, but she's like this limp squirming cat. "What the fuck is this?" Larry says from the back seat. We're all dumbfounded, our mouths hanging open. The guy moves fast over to the drivers side window, which is open, and begs for help. He wants us to give them a ride. Before I can tell him hell no, you snort and rise from your near coma in the passenger seat then open the passenger door. "Here ya go," you say and stagger outside into the street, leaving the door open wide. The guy proceeds to drag the screaming woman around to the passenger side and starts to manhandle her into the car. I'm like, "Get the fuck out of my car! You are not putting that woman in here." I have no idea what's going on with this woman, who looks like she's in the middle of a psychotic breakdown. But she's got victim written in her crazed eyes. Your brother and his friend from the back seat are telling him the same thing, to get the hell out of the car. There's shouting and arm waving. The guy gives me this look and then reluctantly drags the woman back out of the car. You're staggering around outside, laughing. I figure with all the screaming, the cops will be here any second. And since the Cougar doesn't have a valid registration (I shaved the stickers off of other people's license plates and glued them to my plates to maintain the semblance of legality), not to mention scores of parking tickets that I accumulated while living in Santa Monica, it's imperative I get this vehicle off the street immediately. Your brother reaches out and pulls the door close and we power around the corner and into the driveway of our little spanish style rental house. Not a second too soon. As we pile out of the car, the cops come roaring up, two patrol cars, full lights and sirens. The guy is still dragging the screaming woman around. The cops surround them. We want no part of this.
Larry, his friend and I all wisely beat cheeks up the stairs and into the house, where we watch the proceedings from our windows. We yell at you, telling you to get in the house. You don't listen. You're out there weaving around heckling the cops, "whaddya doin'? You don't know what you're doing!" Followed by wild laughter. The cops turn and ask you what is going on. You tell them in so many slurred words that we saw them in the middle of the street and were going to give them a ride. The cops turn back to the couple and start to separate them. You're still heckling them and we're shouting out the window for you to come back to the house. One of the cops has apparently had enough of you, he turns, shakes himself to settle his gun belt, and then tells you that if you don't leave he's going to arrest you. "I'm pre-med. I know what I'm doing," you say in response. You say this while staggering around in a circle in the middle of the street. We're horrified, thinking that you've probably got one of your ever present glass jars of coke in your pocket and things could get ugly real fast. But apparently the threat of arrest does filter into your spinal column, causing you to change your direction. You make unsteady steps back to the house, while we watch from the windows. In a few moments, they've arrested both the man and the woman and take them away. You come upstairs and we do a few lines and you go to bed, while sitting around drinking beer and shaking our heads at the weird turn of events and another close call you had with the law. JOHN ABEL
P.s. I want to put a post up in my blog on some of our appt. fun but you need to give me a rundown on the night that dude approached the car and whatever was going on
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