Threat or Treat

Karl had a roving evening last night. Earlier he met with his band of Druids at the snare-making camp. After that he packed up his sprang loom and twine and then rushed off to see a friend's comedy night at yon near by club. Afterwards he joined forces with the troup as they headed to the Dark Forest to toast a successful evening of stand up. But on his way home something sinister was happening to end the Holiday.

As I walked up the block on Flatbush I saw an orange glow from the corner. I noticed something that smelled like burning tuprentine. It was about 1:00 am, as I crossed the empty street I noticed that four Christmas trees were set aflame in tandem down Plaza Street. I ran to the pay phone but found it was broken (Karl resists cell culture). No one was on the street. Thinking quickly I knocked on the window of a restaurant that was closing up and got the attention of the night worker. In a thick latino accent he yelled, "We close now! Sooory!". I pointed in the direction of the fire I tried to warn him in my broken Spanish. I realized I was actually yelling "The lesbian is on fire! The lesbian is on FIRE!" A stray dog at the end of the block stopped and barked at me then waited. It looked right at me. The night worker opened the side door and looked in horror as the flames now reached the height of about 8 feet. He said he was going to call the police. Or maybe he yelled "Please review your policy!" --> ??

I figured my work there was done so I continued to walked home pondering the incident. What kind of person does this thing? Such an angry act. Burning a tree in front of a Druid is liking shooting a car in front to Dale Earnhardt. In the early morning I awoke from a dream of four people bursting into flames. They ran around in a circle and then dropped to the ground and disintigrated. In the dream that same stray dog sat and watched and then nodded it's head at me as if to say "it's done, go home, me llamo Skippy". What was he trying to tell me? Damn these foreign language dreams!

Serving My Community
Tomorrow I start my first day of Community Service (70 hours), or to those in the know, CS. I'll take the A train to East New York and then wait at the train station with the work group. A blue van that will take us to the job site. Work day is from 8:00 until 4:00. In an odd way I feel good about getting to this level. At least I've completed this pile of paper work. In the absense of my PO I surfed through system and got the paper work from his supervisor Ms. S----- so that I can get on the crew that starts this Saturday, Jan 7.

I feel like the nut-job that made his own noose for hangin' day. How many people on probation pro-actively make their own arrangements for CS?! I met with the task leader Mr. B------ and got printed instruction and a ssslllooow, loooong explanation on how and where to take the train. At least they quit asking if I need a translator, someone must be taking notes over there.

I have to buy a knee brace for tomorrow. I twisted my knee at the ice rink on Monday. I stepped out to have a cigarette and fell as I dodged a falanx of Hasidic children. You think one of them would have broken my fall. One even laughed at me as I tried to retrieve my broken cigarette and then fell on it. This reminded of the time when I was separated from my troup and was surrounded by arrow weilding Cobol, a tiny mob of canine soldiers. What's wrong with these kids?