yeah, i stole'em. naw, i mean, i took'em. i don't give a fuck, man. it's an old candy factory. you think they really care? you think they ain't got another sixteen tons of those things, loaded in the back of a truck somewhere, sitting around, gathering dirt and rust and all crawling with spiders? so i took'em. i got my wrench out of my backpack and a hammer and a screwdriver and i went to work.

i guess i ain't surprised the cops showed up. it was loud as fuck, and it was the middle of the night. yeah, i shoulda waited til afternoon. i thought it would be better to do under the cover of dark, see, but that didn't make sense after all. middle of the day in this neighborhood, there's all kinds of noise. no one woulda noticed. middle of the night, yeah, i bet you coulda heard it six miles down the fucking road.

so the cops show up, and i didn't even hear'em til they was right behind me, shining a flashlight over my shoulder.

"whatcha doin, red? whatcha up to there?"

so i turn around, and one of'em got his hand on my shopping cart, and the other one is the one holding the flashlight. one black guy and one white guy. what did they look like? they look like cops to me, man. beyond the uniform, they all look the same. short ones, tall ones, fat ones, skinny ones, white ones, black ones, hispanic. what do you want to know?

the black one, by my cart, he has his hand on his hip, real casual-like, the way they always do when they want to you know they're packing heat and all you've got is a hammer and a screwdriver and not even a hand to pull up your goddam pants.

of course i don't say anything back. what are you going to say back in these situations? it's not like you just got caught speeding. "yes, officer, i'm sorry officer." hope for pity? unlikely. i just look'em in the eye and hopefully give'em a little scare, without putting down the hammer or screwdriver just yet.