, another day, another breathalyser test.

The policeman doesn't recognise me. They never do, until it's too late (or would be, if I weren't so lissomely kind.)

Several minutes go by, and then, more indispensably, I see the seconds start to disappear. 
I can handle the big shit, slick (R.I.P Tommy Lee Jones), but start fucking with my holistic temporal micronomy and you're not running the risk of unleashing the Panther, you're sprinting it, with hurdles
This wannabe Max Rockatansky (me, or the officer? Your guess is as good as mine, hoss) is getting deep into the tribal actualities, the real tough guy vs chuff guy shit, "who's who vs whose who's who" in the urban cosmo-cop-itan playground that old modern London has become.
I won't lie, P.C. Plod's typically done & trust-ed by this point from the name on the second line of my license alone,
but this lawnmower of a lowland simean just won't take the hint, and it's hard to hold my end of the big boy stick when the biscuit's starting to pop out of the fucking tin, you feel me?

I stumble, no, I stagger, lightly, in my verbiage, and suddenly it's not me (and Lacey, in the passenger seat) behind the wheel of an automobile, it's two monkey-touchy-monkeys who've been caught in the wrong pen of the wrong zoo on the monkey bars that only God's supposed to swing from.

My pineal gland is usually as wide open as my date's date should be by this time of the evening, but it's clear that the only third eye our uniformed captor has ever opened up is the one that's Japanese, comprende amigo?

"Don't you know who I am," would do the job nicely if I was on my own, but friends of mine have learnt the hard way that Tinder Select gives you about zero-point-minus-five chances when it comes to this kind of chivalraux-pas.
"Haven't you got real criminals to catch?"
*Crackle* "number number number tango julius fucking caesar etc" *end crackle* and the chequered macaque is instantly done with us.
One of the many benefits of this city - you can always count on the poor to pose a greater threat than you.
Really, I should've given Plod a tip - before we had a chance to wind the window down, Lacey had already scoffed the entire bag we were saving for bedtime. I've got a long night ahead of me.


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