by Gonzo Gab
Karma Police blotter, 2 a.m. : After an evening relaxing around the bonfire in the new fire pit, I was ready for sleep and retreated to my room. Upon opening my window to enjoy cool (and rare) summer air - my ears were accosted by droning zombie-gangsta beats & three zombie kids playing football in the middle of the street.
Mind you, this is not inner city - this is suburbia. When I grew up out here it was farm land, so when presented with the opportunity, I moved back to be closer to nature, away from the city and create an intentional community. (Also to get away from just this kind of zombie shit). There are parks and schools with lit fields everywhere out here but no -- football in a four way intersection in a quiet neighborhood at 2 a.m. is what zombie children want. They want to attack your brain because they weren't taught to use the ones they were given.
I yelled down from my dark room, 'Hey, fuckwits! Do you know what time it is? Keep it down or I'll call the law!' Which was answered by an immediate reply of 'We'll turn the music down.' [And a few hearty laughs from my friends camping around the fire pit.] The music was instantly turned down. I thought, well alright then; there's hope for these zombie suburban youth after all.
Those hopes were dashed in a matter of seconds, however, as they commenced playing football & yelling...this was more serious than I thought. None of them were able to tell time or understand how sound travels faster and louder in neighborhoods where adults with working brains live. I wasted no time in keeping my promise to the fuckwits.
Less than a half hour later the helpful officers rolled away, the children of the corn belt retreated inside and I was returned to my bonfire memories of Bob Marley, the fading scent of toasted marshmallows and was soon blissfully asleep.