Being the imagined Minneapolis musings of one Officer Ahab, ICE Captain 

Here they come. Twenty of us and only about 2,000 of them. Is that a trash can lid strapped to that guy’s chest? And pink hair to complete the look. Geez, these people never give up. What do we have to do? These freaks will never comply. And orders are orders. So here I am, geared up and ready again. 

Ready for what? I don’t think Bovino knows anymore either, but here we go. 

I was here in the eighties, I remember, we drove up from KC to see the Farm Aid show at a big club here. There was a great act from Nashville, wish I could remember who it was. That place  should be right down this street, if I’m right. I remember that night, thinking what a clean and beautiful city this was, and what fair people lived in it. 

Not anymore. It looks like Black Hawk Down around here nowadays — where are the white faces? This place is a criminal shithole now. How does that happen? Who let it happen?

Is that dude lighting a Molotov? Why do they do it? I’ll never understand, as long as I live, why people defy law enforcement. I mean, there is nothing in it but trouble. Nothing to gain, because we are the law and they are not. Nothing could be more crystal clear. 

They can never win against us. 

Still, here they come. 

The woman, the woman, the woman. Why did she have to have that name? They will not let that dyke rest—and that libtard bitch almost took one of us out—but they don’t care. They just keep coming, like fucking lemmings. 

Third from left, my man’s been hanging at the gym and hugging the bar, feeling no pain tonight. Watch that one. 

Here he comes. God he’s big. 

“I haven’t shot anybody!” They don’t listen, they don’t care, I’m just a uniform. I wasn’t in that group, I don’t know what their shit was, and I don’t care. I won’t be losing any sleep over that freak, absolutely none. Dipshit had it coming, that’s it and that’s all. You can’t put that on me, He engaged and paid the price. I wasn’t in that group. I’m just doing my job. 

It’s my job. This is my job! Goddamn anyone who calls me a murderer for doing my job! 

This is when I really feel it, letting the gas rip through them. There’s your first amendment, motherfuckers! There’s your due process! Suck it up and feel the power! 

Those people weren’t murdered anyway. None of us are murderers, we’re law enforcement and that’s the end of it. No one will touch us—and no one better try. If someone in the crowd gets hurt, well, that’s how it goes in America, every day. No one is safe. And justice never sleeps. 

Reminds me—soon as I’m out of uniform, pick up that scrip at Safeway, and try to get some sleep.