A Harder Task
If you read my previous story already, and or this one, you know I am trying to make The Park nicer.
The group that ain't gonna go so easily are the drug dealers.
I don't have, a.problem with selling drugs. The weed dealers by the fountain are selling drugs. Some like hotdog vendors (funny!) Some have a table! I love Washington Square Park because they can do that.
I mean the ones on my racetrack. Or on the paths to the arch in quiet areas.
Them I don't like. First of all they're selling the bad drugs. I don't care even about that. They're lurking. They're gangsterish. I don't like those men. Those men are also gonna get the fuck out. When one tried giving me lip last week I ripped his off (metaphorically). They're done.
I need a few weeks. I keep hinting I am an undercover cop. Which I am not. But I seem like it. Don't I? Maybe even an undercover cop, cop. Internal affairs. I may seem like that. What I am going to seem more like now is a Narc. Because even though I don't care about the drug dealing, if that's what scares them, that's what they're gettin'.
I really want to throw the biggest one into traffic, but I am not allowed. I have to restrain myself every time I get into almost heated words with a boy.
Yesterday a skateboarder on Broadway got mouthy with me because I, a pedestrian, cut him off.
Pedestrians > Riders > Cars
He seemed a little eager to fight. I had to calm myself down so as to not actually fight him. Because once begun I have to end it. So when I deal with these cocksucking men in dark clothes blocking the paths and selling rat poison I am going to fuck them up mentally, not physically.
They'll be gone soon.
