Reid Welch
1 MW
It's my birthday. I'm feeling punk as usual lately.
Ernie offered to go get me a pack of cigs, and because my car is parked in the courtyard (his is always in the garage), he used my car.
He's 78 years old.
He was gone for perhaps fifteen minutes. As Ern returned, and was just one house away from our courtyard entrance,a black male on a bike rode out of the bricked courtyard, out of our gates, turned left. He apparently did not see Ernie in my yellow car.
He carried a piece of iron pipe.
What happened: the gates were open. Opportunity to case. The guy sees that this house is fitted all with hurricane, double-laminated, break-proof glass.
Plus, he must have figured there was too much chance that someone was in the house.
Indeed, I was in the house. I'm always in the house, gun at side.
IT IS MY RIGHT TO SHOOT DEAD ANY INTRUDER ON THIS PROPERTY, particularly a black male bearing an iron pipe in hand.
No questions need be asked.
The guy was gone. I folllowed the expected trail of the intruder, down Douglas Road, but the traffic was all congested and he made it back into the black Grove before I could get there, one mile away.
I thought: maybe it was innocent, my friend Tony. It's Tony's birthday today too! But an iron pipe? I've known Tony for three years. He is not a burglar; he is my trusted friend.
I went to where he lives, his 86 year old Auntie's home, a dilapidated duplex. I knocked. A black face appeared at the window.
":What you want?"
"It's me, Reid, Tony's friend!"
"Tony ain't here. He's....away. But I know you.
I'm Tony's cousin! We met years ago.
Don't you remember me?"
He was not the home intruder, that was for sure,
nor was it Tony who was on that bike. Tony is in jail.
"I'm Cleveland. I'm Tony's cousin" everybody in the Grove is someone's cousin;
but here it was true: for Cleveland cares for Tony's Auntie, who raised him from infancy.
Laughs, relief, smiles. Cleveland! I guess I met him on the street about four years ago now.
He is a cyclist. But he was not the one who had been on our property.
See, I promised Cleveland years ago, to make a Youtube documentary video of his daily life.
Cleveland rides his old bike everywhere. He has but one leg. Gunshots, all through the torso, twenty years ago.
The leg could not be saved. But Cleveland rides a bike. Sometimes he joins the Lycras for a partial run on Saturday through the Grove,
but he can't keep up for long. They leave him in the dust after a few greets and goodbyes.
My birthday. I survived. I will kill dead any cop or stranger who wanders into our courtyard uninvited.
I'm putting a warning sign on the gate today.
This is entirely legal and within my rights.
Mrs. Andrade next door: thirty years ago, home invasion, robbery, break and enter, hogtied old lady and elderly husband, who soon died.
I will get any intruder first and then dispose of the body myself. I won't write a report.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
edits: only the usual, minor spelling and punctuation errors
Ernie offered to go get me a pack of cigs, and because my car is parked in the courtyard (his is always in the garage), he used my car.
He's 78 years old.
He was gone for perhaps fifteen minutes. As Ern returned, and was just one house away from our courtyard entrance,a black male on a bike rode out of the bricked courtyard, out of our gates, turned left. He apparently did not see Ernie in my yellow car.
He carried a piece of iron pipe.
What happened: the gates were open. Opportunity to case. The guy sees that this house is fitted all with hurricane, double-laminated, break-proof glass.
Plus, he must have figured there was too much chance that someone was in the house.
Indeed, I was in the house. I'm always in the house, gun at side.
IT IS MY RIGHT TO SHOOT DEAD ANY INTRUDER ON THIS PROPERTY, particularly a black male bearing an iron pipe in hand.
No questions need be asked.
The guy was gone. I folllowed the expected trail of the intruder, down Douglas Road, but the traffic was all congested and he made it back into the black Grove before I could get there, one mile away.
I thought: maybe it was innocent, my friend Tony. It's Tony's birthday today too! But an iron pipe? I've known Tony for three years. He is not a burglar; he is my trusted friend.
I went to where he lives, his 86 year old Auntie's home, a dilapidated duplex. I knocked. A black face appeared at the window.
":What you want?"
"It's me, Reid, Tony's friend!"
"Tony ain't here. He's....away. But I know you.
I'm Tony's cousin! We met years ago.
Don't you remember me?"
He was not the home intruder, that was for sure,
nor was it Tony who was on that bike. Tony is in jail.
"I'm Cleveland. I'm Tony's cousin" everybody in the Grove is someone's cousin;
but here it was true: for Cleveland cares for Tony's Auntie, who raised him from infancy.
Laughs, relief, smiles. Cleveland! I guess I met him on the street about four years ago now.
He is a cyclist. But he was not the one who had been on our property.
See, I promised Cleveland years ago, to make a Youtube documentary video of his daily life.
Cleveland rides his old bike everywhere. He has but one leg. Gunshots, all through the torso, twenty years ago.
The leg could not be saved. But Cleveland rides a bike. Sometimes he joins the Lycras for a partial run on Saturday through the Grove,
but he can't keep up for long. They leave him in the dust after a few greets and goodbyes.
My birthday. I survived. I will kill dead any cop or stranger who wanders into our courtyard uninvited.
I'm putting a warning sign on the gate today.
This is entirely legal and within my rights.
Mrs. Andrade next door: thirty years ago, home invasion, robbery, break and enter, hogtied old lady and elderly husband, who soon died.
I will get any intruder first and then dispose of the body myself. I won't write a report.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
edits: only the usual, minor spelling and punctuation errors
cry. Clara Rockmore (google) allowed me into the last few years of her life.
