It is a bad time for it, I can tell. I’m still sitting behind our bush. Don’t ask. It’s a hobby of mine. You see, Bobby and me, we like to sit here and watch what happens. There’s always something good. People come from far a near here, and when you get lots of people, you get lots of idiots. We love idiots.
As I’m sitting here, I think that maybe I’m going crazy, or that maybe they outside the museum are going crazy, or that light post is displaying hallucinations, instead of light. Whichever, I hightail it out of there. Making for home, I whiz around the corner of Delson Street not bothering to look back, or ahead of me. Jumping up the step to my apartment building. I body check the door into room and-wait, this isn’t right. Before I can think, someone comes out of th-
“Hey! What are you doing in here?!”
AAHH! It’s back. Out the door I go and back onto the street. A big man on a motorcycle whizzes down. He goes to fast for me to see, but I think he’s one of them. Back down Delson Street I go, and around the corner. I stop at our bush, catching my breath. Now I understand. Policemen are allowed to carry guns.