Saturday night – May 9
Love and hope and sex and dreams Are still surviving on the street Look at me, I’m in tatters! I’m a shattered Shattered Friends are so alarming And my lover’s never charming Life’s just a cocktail party on the street.
Hanging out on the parkside listening Donato’s boom box, it’s a beautiful night. We don’t care. Everyone is singing along to the Stones. It’s the weekend. Not a care in the world.
We’re teenagers, what’s there to worry about?
If you took a count, we probably have 25 to 30 kids hanging out tonight. Some nights it’s more, some nights it’s less.
A cop car rolls up. Everyone is looking over at the cop who is getting out of the car. Someone turns the music down.
Oh shit, should we run?
Who they looking for?
It gets real quiet.
“ANYONE SEE MIKEY?” the cops shouts.
No one says anything.
It’s like we’re frozen.
We’re too afraid.
“IF ANYONE SEES HIM, TELL HIM WE’RE LOOKING FOR HIM AND HE BETTER TURN HIMSELF IN,” the cop explains.
We stand there stunned.
Wonder what Mickey did now? Guy is always getting into trouble.
The cop turns around and walks back to the squad car. It peels out, goes around the circle and books down 15th street.
We crank the music back up.
“Wonder what Mikey did?” someone asks.
“Who gives a shit,” I scream.