Out of the Car, Ass-Ho

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You have NO idea how many times me and my friends heard this command from a squad car parked behind us in Lombard and Villa Park.

The only way they ever addressed us was, “Asshole.” On Friday nights, we’d drive around trying to nurse a six-pack and a few loose joints and make them last and figure out where all of the young women of questionable virtue would be doing the same thing.  This is before texting, sexting, and even cell phones.

Our best chance was the Ski-Hi Drive-In, which was also a respite from cops.  They’d roll through once or twice a night, but it wasn’t nearly as perilous as driving around town where you knew the fuckers were looking for you.

Eventually they would find us, steal our beer or make us dump it and feel us up for drugs, which we would promptly eat the minute we’d hear the siren and see the lights.

It was cat and mouse.

Published in: on January 27, 2012 at 6:53 pm  Leave a Comment  

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