A
nother long strange trip in a dream.
It went this way.
I was trying to get out of a city that was falling apart. Buildings were crumbling or on fire. Crime was at an all time high. There were riots in the streets. The rioters defeated the police because the police were understaffed.
I stayed out of the combat by being crafty. I walked down side streets, hid in dumpsters — yuck — sat behind destroyed cars, and snuck into buildings, both abandoned and still available. Finally, I made it to the last guarded area before I could get into the country, when most of the city exploded.
The explosion revealed a box. A big glowing blue box. Instinctively, I headed towards it. When I arrived it started spinning and it sent me flying out over the country fields that I was trying to reach earlier.
I kept going and going.
I flew into the earlier century. The one in which I was born. I landed in middle of the street on which I grew up. Iroquois Avenue in Long Beach, California. It was like I was outside looking in. I saw my family. I saw my neighbors and friends, but it was like I was standing behind a force field. I could see all of them. I couldn’t hear them or talk to them. This went on forever.
Until I woke up.
Meanwhile, In New Orleans, a crumbling city, a three year veteran of the New Orleans Police Department quit in the middle of his shift because he was afraid of dying in The French Quarter. It turns out there were only three cops working in the entire area. None of them had each others backs. They couldn’t.
The city is down to a little under 1,000 policemen. We should have about 1,600 cops. The police chief tried to blame him for breaking his oath, abandoning his brothers in blue. Oh, and by publishing the story the media was complicit because now the criminals know how depleted the police department really is.
That’s it. Blame the media. Why not? Everybody else does.
Believe me, the bad guys already know. They’ve known for the last couple of years.
Nonsense. I’m going to the country.
STORYTELLER 
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