On a police story
I took a drag off of my cigarette and flicked the rest off the bridge.
“It’s fucked up out there, Tommy,” I said, “grisly murders, horrifying rapes, pregnant women brutally beaten beyond recognition… it’s sick and I don’t know how much more I can take. I’ve been on the job for 10 years and I see more dead bodies in one night than I see my wife all week.”
“Who are you, mister?” Tommy asked, ”where’s my mommy?”
Later that night as I drank the last of my Jack Daniel’s I asked my wife if we had a child. When no one answered I remembered that I don’t even have a wife.
“Where did that kid come from?” I wondered.


















