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Dookie & Pookie
Cutie Homesteader, Eye Witness to Baltimore’s Finest in Action

It was one of those things, I was scared because they [cops] came at this thing with guns drawn and there was a helicopter over the house on the loudspeaker. This was during the daytime—early evening. Got freaked out, I heard someone run up my fire escape, somebody right at my apartment. I got brave enough to look out back and saw the cops.

The first thing is two or three cops and one cop car had apprehended him and were giving him a hard time and throwing these condoms around and were saying, “Does your mom know that you’re shoving drugs up your ass?”

“Are you some kind of faggot, sticking shit up your ass?”

There was a lot of condoms. Trevor, my nice second-floor neighbor, came home later and says, "Why is there a shit-ton of condoms on the [parking] pad?”

More cops show up, get out of the cars and start also chastising him, down on his stomach in handcuffs and he is complaining, “Let me sit up,” and they are saying, “What, you want us to get you a couch to sit on?”

What I was impressed with was just how long they had this kid, who they were obviously taking to jail and they just leave him lay after they kick him around and make fun of him and then hang around like a cop meet-up and shoot the shit—like there is not another criminal on the loose in Baltimore City, like he represents all criminals. They were probably out there for like 45 minutes. They killed some time.

The dog next door is just barking constantly. The drug-dealer dog would bark anytime. The dog is barking at them and one of the police officers actually yells, “Roxy, shut-up!”

The next door neighbor was well-acquainted with the police. They knew Pookie well, little Pookie, my drug-dealer neighbor with his dank weed and the big dog named Roxy living on his porch, forever barking.

Waking Up in Indian Country: Harm City: 2015

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