(then there's no central park in LA. its griffith park.)
I felt like border patrol, squinting in my uniform, trying to figure out the things ambling towards us. Most of the time it was just a civilian, probably asking for some cigarettes, but we had none. Actually, we did have some, but we weren't gonna give them to no stinkin' civilian. I felt pretty good about this job though, considering that I'd only been working on it for what? 5 years? Still, the stuff never got better and I refused to touch any of the harder stuff, but I took my medication and that was that. It kept me at bay - I was on Prozac or something, can't even remember. My supply's almost gone. Back to being cynical.
I still thought I was better off with the job. Mom back in Irvine had a nice house and a nice car but both of those things meant nothing to her, the car rendered useless and the house empty with dad and me gone.
But this time I wasn't border patrol, squinting in my uniform, i was wearing a t-shirt and jeans at the assembly in Griffith. "Damn well good job."
I don't know why I'm here - I'm stupid, so I thought everyone was supposed to go. Or were they? I don't know... I went anyways. Just for the hell of it. I'll probably get a yelling if nobody else left. But who cares?