Shoulder first, I barge through the back door of Serpico's, a
pizza place a few blocks from the Allenhurst Beach. New Jersey is cold and disgusting. I have no idea why anyone with the option to
leave wouldn't do so.
Three cops sitting at the table by the window, laughing and
scarfing down plain slices, on the house of course. They have a big
night ahead of them. Using four individual squad cars to detain a
couple fifteen-year-olds who took the railroad shortcut home from
the beach. Hesitantly releasing an old woman who's been pulled
over for doing five miles-per-hour over the limit. Conducting
delicate recon operations on the basketball courts. The life of a cop
here in the infinitely crime-ridden, beachfront city of Allenhurst is
nothing short of mortifying. I know. I know. It's so typical to hate
the police, but I swear I have better reasons than the unwashed,
dreadlocked masses.
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