...and you can buy yourself a bigger cage
Last night I awoke to the sounds of a woman crying on the street outside. I must be more callous now, because I didn't even bother to look out. The junkie drama is just too taxing on the psyche some times. Besides, there is nothing to be done. Even when I call about convulsing and half dead girls on the sidewalk, the ambulance comes and goes without them. It is all too bizarre.
So it looks like I'm on garbage detail today. And low and behold, there's a hooker bust happening as I type this. It's not the girls I have a beef with, but the crack smoking creeps in cars that cruise around looking for them. It seems these guys have a preference for scabby incoherent desperately young girls. It is sad.
I figured that something was up this morning as all of the available police cruisers in Vancouver appear to be in the 'hood.
In honour of our potential upcoming labour unrest, I was looking for my favourite Quasi song, The Happy Prole, but I'll have to settle for an equally engaging tune instead. Birds is a fantastic album. They are still a band that serves a real purpose in my listening life, unlike Mates of State, which seem like a rip off spazzy outfit that I can do without. Check this out...
The Poisoned Well.
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