Last night was a wild night.
I was walking down Hollywood Blvd and ended up at Las Palmas, where they're doing a repair project, re-paving the road. I didn't smell the tar smell until I'd already taken an unlucky step into the street, and felt my foot stick to the paving. As I pulled my foot up off the ground I noticed the crowd across Las Palmas. They were gathered round a homeless woman who had, apparently, laid down in the middle of the newly-paved road, and was stuck. Where her bare back had touched the pavement, the skin was tearing off, exposing her dermis and dripping blood. Someone in the crowd mentioned that the poor woman had been cold, and so laid down on the hot pavement, and was now paying the price. Her cries were excrutiating to hear.
Then there was a siren, and the fire truck pulled up, and firemen climbed out and headed toward the unfortunate woman. I decided since there wasn't anything I could do anyway that I would turn around and go back to my apartment. I came upon a couple of the many police officers that now frequent Hollywood Blvd. I nodded at them, said Hi, and then, for some reason I was feeling particularly ingratiating so I told them, "I walk around Hollywood Blvd a lot and I want to let you guys know I appreciate everything you do. I think you really keep the streets safe. Good job." I think I meant to mention something about the recent report that showed violent crime in Los Angeles had fallen last year, but I didn't get around to it before the police exchanged looks and then one, whom I will call "A", said,
"So, you live in Hollywood?"
"Yes, right around the corner there," I said, pointing.
"Well, let's hang out," said the second, whom I'll call "B." They each put their arms round my shoulders and led me in the direction in which I'd pointed, so now I had no choice but to take them back to my apartment to "hang out." I wracked my brain trying to come up with a reason to break away from them.
"What's in your bag, there?" A asked.
"Huh?" I didn't want to show them what was in my bag.
"We're just curious about you and what you do, since you were so complimentary. We like to know about our citizens. You're certainly not under any obligation to open your bag for us."
"Yeah, we can always get a search warrant! Hahaha."
Laughter all around, although I didn't feel it was all that funny. This situation had quickly turned surreal, and I was fast becoming scared.
"No, that's not necessary," I said, opening my bag. I was trying to make a joke when I continued "I hope I'm not carrying anything incrimin--" but I stopped myself because they already seemed unduly suspicious of me for some outrageous reason, and continued with "--anything that would make me look silly to you guys." I showed them some sketches and scripts.
"Oh, you write comics, huh?" A said. "That's cool." All the way back to my apartment we made small talk about comics (they were both fans) and movies based on comics. I tried hard to say exactly what I thought they wanted me to say, and to try to think of something I could do to get away. But I couldn't, and I don't remember a time when I've felt more dread.
When we got to my apartment, they invited themselves in and poured themselves glasses of grapefruit juice. B started making stacks of my stuff, a few books and drawings, and placing the stacks near my front door.
I now started to feel I might actually be in danger. I said, "Tell you what, guys, I'm gonna take off, because I was actually out running errands when I--"
"No, hang out with us a little longer," A said. "We hardly ever get to hang out with people who aren't criminals or cops."
B decided to take a shower. A went out to make a call, or check in, I didn't hear what he said, so I decided this was my chance to get away from this increasingly unbelievable situation. I gathered up a few of the books and drawings that B had stacked, and started to leave. Then I decided that if I just took off like that the cops would be mad at me, and since they now knew where I lived they could make my life extremely difficult if they wanted to. So I decided to leave a note. And intense, nail-bitingly suspenseful search for a blank piece of paper and writing utensil ensued (I'd misplaced the small notebook and pen I always carry with me in my pocket).
As I began the note, I heard the shower turn off. My heart was pounding; I only had a few seconds left to write something acceptable and make my escape. I finished writing a few words and scrambled out the front door, just as several other police officers and their spouses/boyfriends/girlfriends start arriving, headed straight for my apartment door.
"Hey, where are YOU off to?" A asked.
"Oh, no," I said, finally feeling I'd been pushed too far. "You can't have a PARTY here!" I then made one of the boldest moves I think I've ever made in my life; I actually pushed several of them away from my door.
Another policeman, "C," turned to A and says, angrily, "Hey, I thought you said this guy was cool to hang out with!"
"I THOUGHT he was," A said. Then, to me: "Maybe we need to get that warrant after all."
He uses what looks like a walkie-talkie to radio the police station, and at this point I realized that I was having a dream, and so I started disintegrating the policemen with my mind. A few of them got away, but I obliterated most of them.
The scene shifted to Hell, with one demon telling another that he was happy they'd found a new partner for the policeman I'd been calling "A," because his previous partner lacked imagination.
I woke feeling scared and needing to pee. It was 3:47 am.