“Well-Officer-it’s-like-this,” and then it would come, another lame excuse for breaking the law. That’s always how it was, absolutely and no doubt, every single time. Officer Dirk Mallem drove around the neighborhood lazily, casually resting his right wrist on the steering wheel, leaning his bent arm out the window to let it fry. 

He’d gotten into the policing business through no fault of his own, just his idiotic idealism. He blamed his old buddy Joe, mostly. It was honorable Joe who convinced Dirk to go into law enforcement with him, and so he, like a dummy, followed. Kind of ludicrous, really. But Dirk had always admired his friend Joe, his resolution and his sense of loyalty. All that righteousness and shit, it was addictive, and Dirk wanted to feel that way. He wanted to feel that good about what he was doing for his paycheck. Didn’t really work out that way. 

All the bull people told him, man he was tired of the tortuously confused pile of cack people seemed itching to get themselves into and for no good reason at all other than, so far as he could tell, they were whacked. Maybe not all, but most people were just whacked. That’s what he got out of this, and it was wearing him down, real thin now.

He missed gigging. Playing drums, touring with his old band. He still wrote songs, just whenever. Had a whole pile of his music stashed in a box under his bed. Dirk had a fresh score he was scratching out, just resting on the passenger seat, soaking up the sun right along with him.

Dirk thought about an island, distant and crisp, not fuzzy like a dream at all, but real. A beautiful place with no humans around except maybe a person to bring him some food and stuff. But really he preferred the idea of being somewhere without any people at all, just sand and water and sky.

He thought, I could happily starve to death, if I could just lay in the sun, in peace, just really in peace, and not have anyone tell me another damn lie. Then it hit him, just that wonderful feeling, that certain sparky thing he’d get sometimes. That could make a pretty good lyric. He’d have to remember that. Good blues material, that stuff. Everybody needs a good blues song now and then.

Officer Dirk sped up a little so that he could pull up to an intersection and stop for the red light. He grabbed his pen and quickly scribbled the words. 

What was it? Right.

I could happily starve 

To death 

To death

If I could

Just lay



In the sun, in peace


in peace, and not

Have anyone

No one at all

Not have anyone to

To, to, tooo

Tell me another

Damn lie.

Not bad

The light turned and Dirk shoved the tip of his pen down into the crack of the passenger seat, right between the seat and back, and exactly in the middle, so it wouldn’t slip around and he’d know just where to grab for it. He never carried a pen in his shirt pocket. The other officers could do that, not him.