Each person thinks that there is a small chance that I can be talked into giving them a slap on the wrist and let them be on their way. The ones who have been through things before will often opt for the cops to cut down on the time and paperwork.Momma was confused, but still said she would rather talk to me than the police. I could see her slowly going through her shopping trip in her mind, trying to figure out what was going on. Like all people living on the edge of society, she didn't doubt that she had broken some rules; she was just trying to figure out which of them I might know about. I placed them into interview rooms two, four and five, telling each of them to take a seat before I closed the doors, which then locked.Normally, at this point, I would wait for a bit; maybe watch them by using the camera in each room. In this case I watched only Natalie. She was so nervous she looked as if she might pee her pants. She hadn't asked to use the restroom again as I expected. It was. He dives into that steady swell of silence, that patient ocean of vast history, that unencumbered melody, and he fights the undertow, never letting this majesty take him alive. He moves his arms, keeping afloat, never time to rest, his arms pumping like the steels of industry, his breath moist and damp, his heart thudding with exuberance, his lungs panting, and his head slapping the cold of that water, and suddenly, for lack of air, he gasps for breath, his muscles give, but with every last bone, with every muscle aflame with work, he fights the ocean, departing far from land, so much that he can see nothing, do nothing, but grind his heavy arms into the current. He has little fear, and he is determined to survive, because he carries the weight of memories, a longing to be free, from our darker selves, free from cacophony, away from addictions and swimming towards these unearthed freedoms, not escape, because the arms will lag and the soul will drown, but moving into the horizon, his.
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