How I cured a rainy night’s blues
I’m bored and I’m stoned.
I’ve drive around all night looking for God knows what in the God awful rain.
I know being like I am out in weather like this is just asking for trouble.
Especially when I know Office Capalbo is on duty, and he would love to snag me or any of the old gang just for kicks.
He’s been on our backs since high school, sneaking around trying to catch us at something – anything.
He once told Pauly he would put us all in jail if it took the rest of his career to do it.
Maybe I’m crazy driving around like this, tempting fate when I know he’s out here somewhere.
But I’m lonely and kind of sad.
Night rain always gives me the blues.
Maybe that why I pay attention to the guy on the side of the road.
At first, the gray-haired guy looks a little like my father.
So I pull over, let him in, hoping he doesn’t notice the smell of pot in the car.
I pray he’s not a cop because I still got a joint in my pocket.
He’s so wet and grateful for me picking him up, he doesn’t say anything even if he recognizes the smell.
Yet he’s so straight, I don’t know what to say to him, and I turn off the radio when he frowns over the kind of music I listen to.
He tells me his car broke down and just needs me to get him to a public phone so he can call for a tow.
But even that short ride to the nearby phone booth is excruciatingly quiet.
So I’m relieved as hell when he waves from the booth that he got someone to come and help him.
I drive off, maybe a little less lonely.
I turn the radio back on to a hip Rolling Stones song.
I light up the join, step on the gas, pound out the back beat with my palm on the dashboard.
That’s when the police car’s siren sounds behind me and I glance up into the rearview mirror to see the flashing lights of Capalbo’s patrol car.
I flick the joint out into the rain as if it is merely an ordinary cigarette. Its orange tip flicks out in the rain even before my car halts.
Capalbo is so glad to see me he doesn’t mind standing in the rain as I perform a sobriety test for him.
My condition and the pouring rain makes it impossible for me to see the crack he wants me to walk.
So I fail his test
He grins as he puts me in the back of his squad car and calls for a tow truck to come collect my car.
The tow truck is busy retrieving the police chief’s car stuck somewhere out on the highway.
Capalbo can’t wait and drives me to the police station so he can finger print me, personally.
He’s about the call my folks to post my bail when the police chief walks in, the same gray haired man I picked up earlier.
The chief wants to know what Capalbo is doing, and Capalbo says I’m drunk or stoned.
Nonsense, says the chief, his voice so loud Capalbo quakes, recounting how I gave him a ride earlier and that I was sober as a priest.
Maybe the chief’s lying. I see a glint of something in his eyes as he looks my way.
But he wants Capalbo to drive me back to my car, and – the best part – to apologize for the inconvenience he caused me.
Now I’m back on the road, high as hell without taking another toke, and one hell of a lot happier after seeing the look on Capalbo’s enraged face as I drive away.