Someone shakes me, and I mutter Fuck off but it comes out "fugauf." Bright light blinds me, and I wince. My head pounds.

"Sir," someone says, "I need you to get up."

I'd know that firm tone of voice anyway. I open my eyes, and sure enough, a big burly cop with a mustache, his eyes hidden behind Aviators, is bending over me. Oh shit; I have coke in my pocket.

"I'm up," I say and try to sit up, but my head aches and I cry out.

"Are you alright, sir?" the cop asks.

"Yeah, just...give me a hand, will ya?"

I reach out, and the cop takes my hand and drags me to my feet. For a moment the pain is so great that I almost fall back down, but then it passes and I'm good. I blink the crust out of my eyes and force a big, happy smile. "Can I help you, officer?"

"We got a call you were passed out."

I look around. I'm standing at the edge of someone's front yard. A big house with a porch hunkers against the sun. Toys, baseball bats, and bits of trash are strewn through the yard. Damn, ever hear of cleaning up after yourselves?

Then it hits me: I remember this place! I think I snorted coke in there.

I notice a man, a woman, and a mega fuck ton of kids standing on the porch, watching me. You ever see The Simpsons? They have that hillbilly character Cletus or whatever, and he has, like, fifty barefoot kids running around? That's what this reminded me of, only more middle class. Lower middle class. I don't fucking know. I live in a one room studio over a deli on one of the roughest streets in Chicago. My idea of middle class is having chrome rims on your Honda.

"So what's going on?" the cop asked.

I sputter and shrug. I can't tell him the fucking truth, can I? My probation officer would have my ass for breakfast.

So, I lie. "I...uh...I was mugged."

The cop raises an eyebrow. "Mugged?"

I nod. "Yeah, it was really bad. I walking and he was like 'Give me your money' and I was all like 'Whaaaat?' and he said 'I got mouths to pay and bills to feed, money don't grow on trees.' It was scary, man."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Yeah," I rub the back of my neck and look around. I see the dad and his kids. Mr. Girl-Maker! "It was that guy," I say, pointing at him, "the one in the green shirt."

Two cops suddenly appear and start cuffing him while his family goes crazy protesting and shit. "I didn't do anything! I'm the one who called!"

"That's right, buddy," I say as they drag him away, "crime doesn't pay."

I was feeling extra mean this morning, so I said, "That girl with the braces was helping him."

More cops come out of nowhere and collar her ass. I giggle. As she passes by, I spot a stupid pink flower stuck to her shirt. "This is mine," I told the cop, yanking it off. "Took it offa my shirt like nothing." I plaster it to my chest. "See?"

"It compliments your outfit perfectly, sir," he says.

"Thank you," I reply. "Hey, what's that?" I point behind him.

He turns, and, acting fast, I pull out my coke and toss it at the porch. Some girl in a jersey reaches up and snatches it out of the air.

"I think they have illegal drugs in there," I tell the cop, "you might wanna get child protective services down here."

A cop grabs the girl and shoves her against the side of the house. "It's cocaine, sir. She's a regular Tony Montana."

"Thank you for your tip, citizen," the cop says and nods to me.

"No problem. I just don't wanna see kids led into a life of crime, you know?"

As I walk away, I shake my head. What a fucked up family.