Jail. Sweet.Mature

Someone slaps you in the face.  You shake your head, partially clearing the cobwebs in your addled brain that muffle the world around you.  You open your eyes to an extremely bright light pointing directly into your eyes, practically buried down to your retinas.

You try to pull back but are held firm by the guy playing the "bad cop" at this particular moment. 

I didn't know they actually interviewed people with the light and the good cop bad cop angle.  You would be excited if you weren't the one being interrogated.

"So you're looking at charges of public drunkeness, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"How do you even know I was drunk? Don't you have to test people for that?"

"Good idea, here put this in your mouth and blow . . . blow . . . keep blowing."  Why does he feel the need to continually tell you?  Like you would forget the instructions immediately after he told you?  Jackass.

"Point oh one.  You're actually clear.  What the hell is wrong with you then?  Who sleeps in a phone booth?"

Great question.  At least I'm not in jail . . . yet.

The End

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