Notes From The Underground...

I roar back over the bridge next to Mike's apartment complex. All the way up Rumson road I careen those turns relentlessly. On the outskirts of Red Bank I'm doing 60 in a 35. Not really caring too much, feeling good. The night sky ignites into a flashing red and blue light three ring circus. Sirens hounding my tail urging me to subside. Fuck, the cops. I pull over. Just stay calm, maybe they won't realize that you're drunk out of your mind and dusted to the eyeballs. "License, registration, and insurance, son." "Alright, officer." I raise my ass off the seat, grab the wallet from my back pocket, and procure the license. Registration? Insurance? Not my car. Where the fuck is it? I start fumbling around in a desperate attempt to find these printed identities. This is bad. It arouses suspicion in the cop mind, the last thing I needed right now. Had the car been reported stolen? God damn, I hope not. "Sorry officer, I borrowed the car from a friend, and I don't know where they are.” “Wait here son.” I keep my head still as if I were frozen by Medusa's gaze, but my eyes avert to the rearview mirror and lock my sights on the cab of the cop's car. He's back there fiddling with his on-board computer, pulling up my file. Conversing with his partner, deciding my fate. This goes on for about twenty minutes; the pigs always love to make you sweat it out. They must get some weird sadistic pleasure out of it.

Finally he gets out, this time accompanied by his partner. "Step out of the vehicle son." "Have you been drinking tonight?" "No, not at all." I reply. “Well, I think you reek of alcohol, so why don’t you step over to the sidewalk here and we’re going to do some sobriety tests.” “Well I haven’t been drinking, but if you insist.” Well, let’s not take any shortcuts. Like everything else, getting pulled over involves a process. It’s just like everything else; you’ve got to do your homework. You get pulled over and you show your license, registration, and insurance. You’ve got to be hassled. You’ve got to be taken out the car. Fuck. Drinking? Got to walk the line. So on this brisk December night, I’m out behind the car flanked by a cop on each side. “Recite your ABC’s son.” “Lift one leg in the air, touch your left finger to your nose, and count 30 Mississippi.” “Recite your ABCs backwards.” “Follow my light with your eye.” “Walk the line!” Disappointed, one cop walks back to the car. The other one chimes in “I don’t even smell the alcohol on your breath, all I smell is cigarettes.” Five minutes later the other cop returns with a couple of tickets; reckless driving and 56 in a 35. Whew… close one. Back to the car and on my way out of town. Hit 520 and tear up through Red Bank, Tinton Falls, Lincroft, Holmdel, Colts Neck, and Marlboro. Bang a left on 79. Cruise on into Freehold, up past the high school and up a few blocks to right across from the courthouse at Stacey’s. Roll in. Tell Bull all about my recent brush with the law and he gets his kicks from the story. So we begin walking around this girl’s friends house that went on vacation in the Bahamas or some shit. -----------------------------------omission-------------------------------------
Finished up and went upstairs to fix another drink. Hung for a bit and decided to go back to Mosar’s in Sea Bright—bad idea. I made it out of Freehold City and into Freehold Township when it started snowing. I went around a curve and lost it. 360 degree 80 mph spin headfirst into a tree. Blank………………….. Wake up. I start heading to Marlboro, 'I’ll take safety at Kerseys’. Make it half way and in my drunken, drugged out state I decide to go back to Stacey’s in Freehold. Flip a bitch. Get about a mile and POP! Three cops, two ambulances. FUCK. And there’s me in my frame twisted, three flat tires, shattered glass, mangled body of a car masterpiece. I’m done. Out the car. "You’ve been drinking! I can smell it all over you” Glass in my eyes, squinting I reply “No, I haven’t been drinking; I’m just really upset about the car.” One cop asks me if I’d like to go the hospital and I tell him I don’t. Meanwhile a couple of his buddies are searching through the car trying to find the booze. Then another one pulls up from down the road all excited. He’s brandishing a crumpled up, dirty twenty ounce can of Budweiser that looks as if it’s been lying there for weeks. “Ah, so you threw this out the window before we found you.” “No, that isn’t mine.” “Suuure.” He says in a sarcastic tone. It wasn’t mine; the truth is my Everclear was sitting in the bottom center console. When the cops were tearing the car apart they only bothered to check the top one, didn’t even realize there was a bottom one. But hey, the cops aren’t winning any awards for intelligence, so what can they do. Now they’ve decided they’re going to take me to the hospital to take a blood sample from me, and have someone fix my eye up while they’re at it. Cuffed and thrown in back I ride along with two young cops to the nearest hospital.