Acres Update

This is a semi-accurate summary of how my weekend went.

Not to say that this event dominated my weekend, because it really didn't (I didn't even know for certain why the police had been there until this morning), but it's pretty indicative of the overall tone of the weekend. I suppose Sunday went well, but that's because I wasn't home.

And here's the follow-up article: Head case had a history of being a head case.

Other occurrences over the past week: a friend of a tenant passed out, totally wasted, in the middle of the parking lot one night. Another tenant went to the hospital for three days, and in the meantime his "friends" showed up and threw a three-day party that I broke up at 5 in the morning upon threat of a police call. The Cuban guy was in attendance.

When I went outside, he wanted to have another heart-to-heart like the last time I'd seen him there. He clutches my hand to his heart. He doesn't do no harm. His papers are in order. He tells me I don't want to call the cops (which happens to be true).

After he's done talking to me, an old skinny black guy - another partygoer - wants to talk to me. He's totally wasted, shifting his weight back-and-forth between his feet, and occasionally rocking so far back on his heels that I move to catch him. The sudden movement startles him, and he flinches. He insists that he doesn't want to get his friend in trouble, doesn't want this coming back to haunt Bobby. But of course it will, there's no way this kind of transgression would go unpunished. Especially after the Milhouse episodes.

The skinny black guy puts his hand on my shoulder. He wants to hug me, but I resist. Now he wants to know why I gotta play the hardass.

"My job," I tell him, "is to lay down the rules, not give out hugs."

He nods. He's drunk, but not too drunk to forget the difference between a pillow and a stick.


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