I go to help the fallen cop, I pick his bike up but he doesn't seem interested at all even a little bit in my help. His attention is over there where those other cops have someone pinned down on the road. Another cop approaches me, cautiously, tells me to put the bike down, to go home, to walk away.
My inebriated logic can piece together the narrative: the cop sees a drunk man holding police property at the scene of a crime. I'm struck by the terrible injustice: No don't you see I am a brother cyclist I am trying to help. I keep my mouth shut I put the bike down I walk away I appreciate the situation.
I also realize, I think I was last to this realization, that's Tom under that pile of fluorescent officers. Don't resist stop resisting. That's what the cops are yelling and what I'm thinking. Be as the reeds in the wind, bend but do not break. There are lots of cops now, they are quick. Paddy wagons and mounted units. The horses clear paths easily. They're telling everyone to clear out, go home, nothing to see. We can't of course, that's our Tom, does that even register with the police?
I suddenly feel useless. Useless and drunk. I need my inhibitions, now is not the time for sociability. I can not deal with the world when I am like this. I do not like being drunk outdoors. I am exposed and vulnerable and reek of rum. Please let this night end.
