Saturday, April 26, 2014

Thomas Street By Night

It's just gone two thirty in the morning and no one has died but we've had drunks, fights, arrests, car wrecks and every single ambulance busy for hours, all three of them, someone stabbed, someone else ate a peanut and threatened to stop breathing, someone got drunk and fell, someone else drove drunk and crashed and a woman slept with someone and angered someone else and she had a warrant which he knew about and called and told me, so I sicc'ed the police on her. Hell hath no fury like a man, scorned. What a night, what a planet I share with these people. I needed air when I took my lunch break.

Thomas Street was the perfect antidote to human failings, dark, quiet and peaceful. My Bonneville had delivered me back to the womb.

Who knows what human dramas were swelling up in the darkened Conch cottages. I didn't care, I was just looking at their characteristic facades.

Every size of picket fence, hoping presumably to keep the wild world outdoors, outside.


The Pepsi Cola banner disfiguring the renovated exterior of the A.M.E. Church. What a pity.


Typical outdoor furniture, comfortable, padded, set out to be used, not admired as though garden sculptures:

Thomas Street at 3:15am:

Olivia Street a little while later on the ride back to work:

Happily for me it was the report writing stage of the night, that dull part of police work not shown on TV, the officers sucking their pencils and calling dispatch to confirm their times....What time did I call out the arrest? And I thumb through my computer screens and find the hour and the minute recorded, and then they want to know which judge to put on their notice to appear...information stored in dispatch...and on and on till the lovely half hour ride home, moon shining silver on the water, dog waiting for a walk, the sun barely rising as I fall asleep at last, no reports to write, no arrests to confirm, not even a motorcycle to ride into oblivion.


shoreacres said...

Well, my goodness. After seeing you so often at Wisconsinland, I decided I needed to find out a little bit about you, and discovered your blog's as comfortable as a good pair of sandals.

I'm trying to remember what year it was that I first got to Key West and spent some time in an anchorage there. I think it was 1997 or 1998. I don't keep good records, so I can't say for sure. I enjoyed it, although now I wish I'd seen Hemingway's place, just because.

And today's entry certainly stirs some memories. My first degree was in medical social work, and I worked for a year or so at Ben Taub, Houston's primary trauma center. Everything they say about ERs on a Saturday night is true. Everything they say about ERs on a full moon is true. If you happen to pull a Saturday night shift on a full moon, be prepared.

Love the photos. I'm fond of empty places - churches on Tuesday, schools in the summer, streets minus their tourists. They have their own tales to tell.

Conchscooter said...

Jack Riepe once told me a long time ago my blog was the Seinfeld page on the web. It has no ulterior purpose, it has no theme or goal, and at some level it serves to irritate. Which causes one to think of Hans Christian Andersen as it were.
I live in a place renowned for mindless entertainment and determined drinking so the perverse in me causes me to seek out that which Key West is not, at least to most people. Such as streets without tourists!
To find myself described as comfortable is a first. Give it time...give it time...