JUST BROKE UP A DRUG DEAL ON MY STREET

Today was the first day I was finally able to drive my mini-van, Chrysler Town & Country, even a short distance since my Open Heart Surgery. The AC is not working for one problem, so I had to roll down the windows to compensate for the 82 degree heat, but I heard a strange sound on the passenger's side and that window would not role up again. When I looked closer I realized someone had tried to break into the van, probably while I was in the hospital. When I tried to take off the inside door panel, it was a complete mess, and even more obvious how hard they had tried. Since there was a thunder storm coming, and the crack of lightening was already nearby, I looked inside the house for some plastic and duct tape to cover the window. Reasonably satisfied with my handiwork, I went back inside to have dinner.

Later on after having watched The Bachelorette to learn just how foolish American dating rituals can become when viewed in an absurd consolidated and neologistical venue, I realized my van was not really secure. So I decided to go back outside and see what I could do, maybe pull the battery and put it into a safe place. When I opened the front door, I saw three teenage black males standing at the end of my van having a heated discussion. I waited a few moments to see if they were casing my van for later, but they didn't seem all that interested, so I went outside to confront them. "What's up players! Now you don't look all that bad." Then I explained to them about someone trying to jack my car and that I was just checking on anyone suspicious, so this was not a good place for them to be hanging out. They didn't seem in any hurry to move away, and they were clearly upset that I said they didn't look all that bad, but they were also in no hurry to confront me despite giving me some passive aggressive attitude. Just then another young man road up on a bicycle... the mule. There were eight more guys coming down the street, so I was standing right in the middle of a drug deal. The kid on the bicycle pulled the drugs out of his pocket to let them know he was holding, and seemed to be wondering what they were waiting on. He must have thought I looked like an acceptable part of the tableau, since I've been growing my hair and beard since my first heart attack back in February, and none of these kids knew what to do with or about my presence, like Jesus walking through crowds of people untouched. The other eight guys were crossing over onto the final two hundred feet down my block, when my three concomitants finally decided to wave off the mule and shortly walk away from me as their apoplexy wore off. Probably unwise, as police have told me before when I helped close two drug houses and ran all the foot traffic and prostitutes off what a City Council meeting referred to as The Corridor of Crime, I announced my renewed presence to this next generation of drug dealer wannabees, "You need to remember that this street belongs to me and Jesus, and I've already closed down two houses." The leader of the other eight young toughs started strutting forward, and loudly demanded, "What did he say?" I immediately wondered if God was going to give the strength of Samson to a guy who was still under doctor's orders not to lift anything more than five or ten pounds if I can help it. I was still quite aware of the ten inch scar and the sternum just below being held together with bailing wire for the next six month until it heals, as the surgeon said, like any other broken bone, although I still think he used a chain saw; and worse, I had left my Big Red Heart Shaped Pillow Inside the house, which I still usually carry in public so I don't get hurt when somebody bumps into me in a store, or better yet, helps them see me coming, That would have made the moment even more completely surreal for everyone involved. I definitely did not see myself throwing a punch, since it hurts to even do my stretching exercises in slow motion. But as I watched after the Three Amigos, not able to hear what they said, even the other eight compagneros turned around and walked away. They were kind of like the Indians, who never mess with the crazy man, who has been touched by the Great Spirit.

I went inside and retrieved my phone to call 911, once I realized they were all headed down the street to a specific house only a block and a half away. I came back out through the garage door so I could remain in the shadows as much as possible, but eventually as I spoke to the dispatcher I moved out to lean against my van to see what more details I might notice to offer. The next thing I know there are more kids headed in the direction of the party drug connection, girls as young as 15-16, and some older males. Everyone was on their cell phone talking, or texting others, and beginning to fill the street in front of the house. The crowd seemed to disappear inside and just then I saw the first police squad car come around the corner. What I wouldn't give for a new camera, since mine was broken a while back, after I took the other daylight pictures of a drug deal I called in, which was eventually busted. It's posted on my Facebook page. You all can feel free to raise me some money to get one with a telescopic lens and infrared night vision. So anyways after the police passed by the block, everyone started to come out in the yard and street again, and they sent a lookout down to the corner of my block. He was tall thin black male with short hair wearing a mostly red woven shirt. Walked away after a bit, but circled behind a house and came back out. Then an older black male maybe in his thirties, but hard to tell with a crackhead, came riding on a bike up from behind and stared hard at me before turning right at the next corner onto Jackson Street. Then I decided to go back into the shadows but told the dispatcher to send an officer to me. Two police cars eventually showed up and I retold the story for them, and they stopped some folks in the street and told me to go inside for my safety.

Sitting here writing, now at the end of my story, I'm aware that I got a few mosquito bites out there, but that's nothing, and almost unnoticeable, compared to the constant pain of the ten inch scar in the middle of my chest. The surgeon referred me for Pain management, but nobody will touch me until my Medicaid kicks in to the game, if ever, and they suggest out of pocket, but I spent my last cash to cover the rent for this last month, which is probably what makes my street so costly and dear to me, so I intend to continue using my pain to leverage my courage, until the next outcome.

Remember! This street belongs to me and Jesus.