I woke up this morning to my roommate screaming get out of the apartment now.
For some ungodly reason, he decided to follow a recipe in a Jules Verne book and make some Nitro-Glycerin.
I don’t know where exactly in the process he was, but apparently he thought our apartment, and probably most of Lloyd District was gonna blow up.
It didn’t.
…..
So on my way out, I grabbed my bike.
As I was calmly biking to work, two large Italian men ran past me. I stopped to see what all the commotion was. A third man crashed into me (knocking me and my bike down). Quickly he got up and ran after them firing random shots in their general vicinity. Just as I was beginning to compose myself, an officer of the law, demanded to commandeer my bike. And for some ungodly reason, I decided to say, “Roger that”
Apparently “Roger that” must be police code or something, because he immediately assumed that I was an undercover agent, because he hopped on the handlebars and said, “You drive, I’ll shoot.”
So I shift into low-gear and start peddling (probably to my own demise) in the general direction of two fat Italians, and one scrawny looking one that would make Woody Allen look like some Actor-turned-Californian Governor.
I peddled fiercely as he fired round after round and a seemingly random pattern.
My ear drums were pounding from the echoes of the shots bouncing of the building walls.
It was crazy, I mean small children WITH BALLOONS were running for cover.
As we gained on them the officer jumped the scrawny one and told me to keep going and get the other two.
So what did I do?….well naturally, I took a turn onto Taylor street, as I was running a little late for work.
Hopefully the cop isn’t upset with me.