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How it really happened
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When I first arrived in the city, I slept in my car, in a parking lot on the beach, for about two months, until I found a job and an apartment. There were usually about four or five other guys in cars that slept there too. Some of them, I learned later, weren't actually homeless, but why they spent the night there I'm not sure, and wasn't sure I wanted to know.
On one rather brisk Sunday evening, in November 2002, when the lot was nearly empty, I made one of my common treks to the liquor store. This had become something of a routine during those nights, since without anything to drink I would have to spend the night cold, lonely, and bored. Alcohol made the late night radio talk show hosts much more entertaining. Also, since I wasn't paying rent, and I was still getting pogie checks from my last job back East, I could afford it.
So I picked up a few brew and a bottle and drove back to the beach. I parked in my usual spot, at the end of the parking lot by the woods, far away from the other cars, facing the lake. The sun was setting dramatically. It was cold, but the fresh humid breeze felt good. I turned on the radio, and cracked a beer.
After about an hour (or maybe it was a few hours, I don't quite remember), I was getting bored. I decided to fire up the engine and do a little exploring around the lot. As I drove back towards the entrance, I went very slowly, not even touching the gas, so as to ease the rocking I went over the enormous potholes. It was a long way to the parking lot entrance, and with the car dipping every which way it felt like I was on a boat, sailing amongst the swells of the ocean.
I finally got there, after about half an hour of sailing, and stopped at the highway with my headlights off. The smooth pavement beckoned my inner demons, but I knew that I was loaded by then and had no place to go anyway. Rather than going further, I determined that I must do a Rockford maneuver.
I wasn't sure that such a stunt would even be possible with a front wheel drive POS cheap import. But with the gravel and soil, I thought I might get lucky. So I shifted to reverse and plotted out my course in the rearview mirror, while revving up the engine. I let go of the clutch and off the car went. But before I wanted to yank on the steering wheel, the bouncing from the potholes made me lose concentration, until I lost control altogether, ending up with the rear tires stuck over two concrete dividers.
That was the last time I drove.
I lunged out, swaring at the dividers and the potholes. I grabbed the bottle and walked towards the lake, soon forgetting about my shitmobile and my little adventure.
It was, after all, a beautiful night. The little waves gently rolling up, and the clear sky and the moon made things very serene and moody. It's easy to lose oneself in the enchantment of the natural world by merely turning one's back to the city. In the far distance was a ship- a large fishing vessel, or perhaps a freighter. I downed another nice gulp of whisky and decided to wave it down, to hitch a ride back to Nova Scotia.
It was then that the policeman arrived. There were no sirens, no lights, nothing, just poof! An on duty policeman, in uniform, appeared right beside me.
He asked me what I was waving at, and I pointed to the ship in the distance, which was obviously Eastward bound, and was already turning in my direction, having noticed signal. He looked for a few moments, and said he couldn't see any ship anywhere.
This made me quite angry. He looked like a kid that I used to pick on way back when I was about four years old. I told him that he was just a silly little asshole, that it was his job to be an asshole, that this was the only reason he was hired, and it was all he had to offer to the world. Then I told him to go and mind his own fucking business.
From that point up until when I woke up in a holding cell, everything is pretty much a blur. I found myself very sore and disoriented, lying on a cold hard floor, next to a man from some Arab country talking about how the Iraqis were going to kick the Americans' butt, because Saddam was a man with balls of steel who lived by his wits, whereas Bush was just a pappy boy.
As for the actual jail, they put me on the nigger range, and of course all the niggers tried to taunt me and intimidate me. They sounded like a pack of wild hungry mongrel dogs. So I just stood with my back to the wall, expressionless, until the niggers went away and the black guys came to respect me and make polite conversation.
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