Like an Unfolding Mystery

That is what it is like. My brother writes fiction stories, trying to get them published, but nothing compares the the mystery of real life. It is a multi dimensional plot- with no conclusion.  He keeps showing me the drafts, but stories, even movies are no comparison to around here.  No one would believe it anyways.

I got my VCR recorder going for the outside.  Watching the front of the building and the cars outside.  The monkeys down the street added insult to injury, and stole the radio out of my poor brother’s car, which is knackered due to the damage to the steering column when the monkeys tried to steal it.  It’s the third car in two weeks, same M.O.  They break in with a screw driver, then use a dent slammer to remove the ignition.  I suspect someone from the apartments from across the street.  It is easy and convenient there, and they can watch the street.  Or, someone is putting them on to it.

Ron is home from the hospital.  Ron is the guy who got his throat slashed.  Fred, the guy who slashed his throat is still outside, on the front porch, like he owns this building, his dogs running loose and shitting all over the front lawn.

You think “C.S.I.” is gonna protect you?  You think John Wayne is gonna materialize out of the blue?  You had better think again.  Crime is very “political.”  It is more of a political thing, than a matter of truth.   Ron is fucked up boy.  It is difficult to say how this is gonna turn out.   How I wish this had never happened.  How I wish people were not like Monkeys in NorthEast.

The cops should be wearing lightweight fighting suits, and track outfits.  Baggy T shirts maybe, instead of those stuffy uniforms.  Because around here, they are going 24/7.  It’s as if, the sirens on their cars NEVER shut off!


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