A cop car just cruised by at 9:33 A.M. on this quiet side street.
Police patrols in these side streets now come mid-morning and late afternoon.
Hoodrat patrols of feral criminals come early afternoon and just after dusk, as if there is a coordination, conscious or subconscious.
From 2014 through 2017 police and hoodrats both policed in such alternately present ways as the neighborhood was becoming aggressively anti-ivory and I was attacked repeatedly until I was the only paleface left on the streets by 2018.
Beginning in 2018 cops stopped patrolling and by 2019 I had won a place in the dark besides my dusky masters as a tolerated asphalt ape of pale hue.
Now, as virtually all ebonies retreat inside from the Dread Minus, the world’s preeminent racist virus [and maybe it is] and the ivories are all about walking dogs and babies, strolling along in the sun as no impis of Bantu yutes have mustered out on ethnic cleansing sweeps from the local schools since March, the police are suddenly back patrolling, only when ivories are about, one cop eye-fucking me as I sat 30 feet from the road on a private porch drinking a beer.
I think I know why the PIGs have returned here, their para-criminal auxiliaries are understaffed, some away rioting for BLM for cash, some cowering indoors and behind surgical masks from the dread vampire race, others fighting the rising agave race as they establish criminal enterprises of their own in recently ebony and one time ivory space.
A fucking PIG cruising here at 9:33 A.M., are you kidding me?
The yutish warriors who commit 100% of violent crimes in this area have not yet risen from their godly biers of repose to partake of their first bowl of honey nut Cheerios!
Their first buck patrols come out at 11:30 A.M.
Bulls don’t flex until afternoon.
I can feel the unseen hand trace a line up my spine.
The cops will be off the side streets before the Bantu bands emerge to sell drugs and settle scores after dark.
The PIGs know this. They are here to keep an eye on the real enemy race, the people who commit a felony by simply drawing breath in a State dedicated to their death.
WANTED: Extinction Event—enforcers needed.
One of our pithy little job-related aphorisms was: "They don't get up until 11 and they can't get their cars started till 1."
Ahh, the memories! Day-shift patrol was like french bread: One long loaf.
As a pallid hoodrat, I always tried to dart home with my groceries before 1 so I wouldn't get picked off on the way back to Caucasian Avenue.