Even though it is winter, every now and then when the temperature gets up in the double digits, I'll crack open a window or two. The apartment gets stuffy after a while and a breath of fresh air is welcome.
So I opened one of my living room windows late this afternoon. The sun was nearing time to set so it was still light enough to see outside. And as I crank the window open I hear a commotion in the street below.
I look down and there is a middle aged man named Billy whose claim to fame is that he can be found nearly any evening at one of the bars in my neighborhood and by suppertime he is usually happily sailing along on an alcohol induced trip. He generally is harmless, but once in a while he gets feisty. That would be OK except for the fact that Billy stands about 5' 4" on a good day. And he usually picks fights with someone twice his size.
This evening Billy got lucky. The fellow he chose to fight with stands maybe 6' 4" and is still reasonably sober and really doesn't want to pound Billy into the ground. You've seen those cartoon fights where the little guy is swinging his fists for all he is worth and his huge opponent is holding him off with an outstretched arm and his hand firmly resting on the little guy's forehead. That was the scene below my window.
About that time a cop car pulls up. Two officers get out and survey the scene. One of them says, "Now, Billy, I thought you promised me you wouldn't fight any more."
Billy answers, "Well, you know you can't believe anything I say when I'm drunk."
The officer answers that it was his mistake. He forgot about that part.
And that's when I laughed out loud.
The evening was one of those that was quiet and sound carries easily. The cop heard me and looked up at my window. "That you, Mrs. Miller?"
I said that it was.
"You doing OK? Haven't seen you out and about for a while."
I told him that I was doing just fine and remarked that he seemed to have his hands full. By that time Billy had a new set of bracelets and was having a bit of a problem remaining upright.
"Well," he said, "Billy and I are going to go check out a nice jail cell where he can get some sleep. Shakopee will be safe for another night."
Sometimes this place reminds me more of Mayberry than of a Minneapolis suburb. I know it's not, but now and then it is good for a chuckle.
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