A.G.E's Joint

What if there are no superheroes ? No hope Just dumb luck. Against the machinations of life? What if there are? Someone to take the responsibility away, Benevolent and all seeing. Willing to protect and take the blame A scapegoat chased out of the city. I don’t take drugs I am drugs Blowing visions across the sky Confusing the flock Guiding them to be sheared. Best Friend Park hadn’t changed much in twenty years. The copper infield was smooth as glass and the emerald turf immaculate thanks to Old Man Johnson. Life was simpler back then. Lt. Walter Murray was here to see his grandson play T-ball for the first time this season. The first three Saturday mornings he had to work. He was happy not to think of dead people and grieving victims. Robbery and Major Crimes, the shifts were consistent. Coaching ball and playing with his kids was possible. Homicide was another animal. No two cases were the same. Dealing in death was a 24/7 on call position. When Friday night’s damage was fo...

This is it. I found it. I’m in Hell,   Herrington thought. The press briefing made him a man condemned. The armchair firing squad was waiting to begin the analysis in earnest. How did Allen get this far? Was this the only road to take or was there one less traveled ?   Was it because of the full moon ?   Questions with no answers, but they still will be asked.  Allen was white, and this was good thing. The professional gadflies wouldn’t have anything to use and the furor over the outcome would be able to die quicker. In fact, most of the useful idiots would just say good riddance. That was a cold thought, though. This was certainly a troubled young man, probably irretrievably broken, but still a living, breathing person.  With a whistle, he motioned everyone back behind the Bomb Squad truck. Alfred the Robot was still at the car, animatronic arm suspended mid grab. It was determined the device was a real pipe bomb, but for some reason unarmed. As...

“Oh, Holy Father.   Grant me peace as I go to my hour of triumph. Amen.” He repeated the prayer as the huge gray truck trundled down the hill, moaning and gasping like a bull in full throws with a heifer. My, how the fiesta has grown.   Aircraft droned overhead like Nicodemus in his tree. Even Pilate was on the pavement waiting for him. Only thing missing was the cross itself. Only there won’t be any impalement except by flying shrapnel. Isn’t that lovely? The media machine won’t be denied. He could sense the clamoring for the public death. But the death won’t be televised, because this cave will be where it will go down.  “Oh, Holy Father.   Grant me peace as I go to my hour of triumph. Amen.” A poker game, this has turned into a winner take all poker game. He sat on one side of the table and the pigs on the other, waiting for the deal from the unseen dealer. The luck of the draw was the true meaning of life. It was all a game. The Pigs ...