Overnight Into Saturday

Saturday morning, the wee small hours, in Our Fair City. The city, unlike New York, that never wakes up.

Item: A line of cops came screaming by (except they weren’t screaming; just going as fast as they could, with their lights flashing) on the cross street a few yards up from where I live. It was Adrenaline City for a little while. When I turned on the scanner, I heard they were chasing some miscreant who had crossed over the river.

Item: Some days you’re lucky. I can often travel down Market Street in Kingston at night and hit all the greens. They are “demand” lights and, late at night, there just isn’t any demand from the side streets. You can also see the other side turning yellow and if you time it right, keep going and hit the green just before you violate.

Item: Someone came down the hill where I live, running, and said something about a rat. We don’t have rats here, but this child of whatever city he’s from probably doesn’t know a rat from a raccoon, which it was. We’ve possum, as well, and I saw a bear wandering around minding his own business one day.

Item: There are two newspapers in this city. One, for which I write, is excellent. The other, for which I don’t write, is good for toilet paper. Anyway, their trucks roll by starting about midnight and heading off to the sticks, filled with bundles that will be dropped off at paperboys’ houses. As was done with me many years ago.