Cruising Nashville @ Night

   
   "Cruising Nashville @ Night"
   
   I'm practically an old man, for fifty is knocking on the door; thus, I usually don't have time to make like Tom and Cruise; nevertheless, armed with numerous types of sleep weirdness, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, listen to the radio; next, I realize I don't have any cigarettes and habitually know it's time to purchase some coffin nails.
   I carry a Rosary in one pocket, for I am a sinner and need all the help I can get; plus, I carry a blade in the other pocket due to the fact that people can be metaphorical monsters--as my son definitely and totally says:  "That's the way I roll."
   So, I piloted my vehicle, my dog in the passenger seat next to me, to a gas station at 4 in the morning, never leaving the house till that hour, for the bars usually close around 2:30; hence, I don't want to be pulled over, even though I'm not breaking the law, for while some cops are as cool as Starsky and Hutch, others can be real fruitcake finks.  My dog and me passed a mess of them after making our exodus from the gas station--four rollers, lights lit up like the Fourth of July, and all over a little blonde girl, alone and terrified.  The cops were either swamping her due to her beauty, or screwing with her.  She didn't have jack in that car--no guns, no large loads of drugs--she was just a little girl, and my grandmother could've taken her in the combative art of fisticuffs; as a result, there was no need for that many cops, especially since the gas station I just left to get cigarettes at almost got me caught up in a brawl, or so I kinda/sorta sensed.
   So, before seeing the blonde and the entire Police Academy, I parked my car at the illuminated gas station, rolling down the windows a bit for my dog to smell the summer air; then, forgetting my knife, I saunter into the gas station.  There, the cashier was yelling at a guy in his mid-twenties, cussing him out, and him offering profane vulgarities right back in her direction, all because he was supposedly with an underage guy, and she wasn't going to sell him the product he wanted; moreover, everyone in there was African-American save me, and plenty of glints in the eyes of the folks were upon me as I had modestly walked in, dismissing their mental probe of me, me showing no fear, for I needed a damn cigarette.
   I stood at the back of a long line, and a white girl, a bartender I know, was behind me, wasted, and stirring coffee.  She always told me about her younger boyfriend, and he ignored me as I spoke to her, a big black dude, but that's cool, for I'm a party type of guy, always repenting because of my lack of common sense.
   Ultimately, I got my smokes, shuffling swiftly back to the car where my blade was, cranking the automobile up, and the dog and me cruised away from the quasi-ruckus, and as I turned the corner, the cops were all over that little blonde girl, while a brawl was brewing right under their noses.  
   I don't go out at night anymore.  It's like Lord of the Rings out there, Jerry!!!