Thursday, January 31, 2013


                                                Photo;Shandra Beri

They do not wear uniforms, but they wear their 'street clothing' as though it is a uniform. In other words; inspection perfect. The detectives (at least the ones I saw today) looked like a mash-up (perfectly pressed and coiffed of course...) of ex-military, pro-golfers, tel-evangelists and those republican politicians that use hair spray as weaponry against their head hairs to force them to submit into a single body (immoveable and precise). Sitting compliantly upon the cranium of the wearer, the well-mapped topography of the keratin helmet then shouts it's silent declaration of (one can only presume..) exactly what it is that the wearer stand for.

Now, coupled with this impeccably self conscious visual presentation, there is also a jagged, gnarly, constantly scanning bad-ass 'personal radar' thing they have going on (they really do look into you...) plus the fact that you KNOW they've seen... dead people. (And not in the way I saw John's carcass painted with make-up, laced up in cheap Men's Warehouse suit and laying in a cheesy polyurethaned coffin) More like 'what has been seen cannot be unseen', dead people.

They inhabit another realm.

Anyway, I like that they can get all legally 'sharkey' -especially if it's on your behalf. But they didn't really offer much hope that they could catch the mooks that are swiping all the UPS deliveries on our street before any of us can get home to collect them.

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