That guy I work with, Neru? I had to arrest him for assault. He punched out some bar manager. HILARIOUS. I needed a good laugh. But the best thing about it was, when I went around his house with the warrant, they were having Spag Bol for tea, which is my FAVOURITE, and they had some left over. Bloody YUM.
Anyway, Neru said he hit the guy in self-defence, but if you ask me, he just needed to vent some rage. He’s been an uptight little sphincter since he shot that guide dog. He tried to tell me ALL about it when were on the job.
How irritating. Stuck in a car with some guy who wants to ‘share’. I hate that emotional shit. It just makes me tired.
Why do we have to talk about his problems? Can’t we talk about the Hurricanes game? Or even better, NOTHING. Because getting involved in someone else’s personal crap sets a dangerous precedent. If you’re ‘there’ for them once, they’ll expect you to be ‘there’ for them again and before you know it you’re always f**king ‘there’ for them. Better to be a heartless cow from the get-go.
Anyway, I could tell Neru needed a shoulder to cry on, or worse, a hug. Oh God. Shivers went down my spine. So I bought him a pie, but more to get out of the car before he started dumping on me than to be nice. I was hoping that by the time I got back to the car, he’d just stuff the pie in his gob and shut the hell up. Because what am I supposed to say? You’ll be okay, blah blah blah blah blah. Pointless. It won’t change the fact that he mowed down a guide dog. DEAL WITH IT. The truth is, if most of us are honest about it, what we’re really thinking in situations like this is I DON’T CARE.
But the Spag Bol was bloody yum.
The Brown Eye: It’s Watching You