"We had reports that you were riding around cursing people and yelling that you hate people. Why do you hate people?"
"I wasn't doing that. I don't hate anybody. The other night, I took off my sweatshirt and lay it over a homeless man in a doorway over there because he looked cold."
"What were you doing?"
"I was riding around crowing like a rooster and honking my bike horn. I don't honk at working folk, cabbies or black and whites," I say in response indicating with my hand the three cruisers in the street with lights flashing, cruisers in Portland, Maine being black and white.
"Why are you doing that?"
"It's going to be a kind of a funny story, if you want to hear it."
"OK," the officer interrogating me says.
"Well, I was walking around VD Port the other day, reading the Casco Bay Jerkly minding my own business when all of a sudden one of those high school kids ... and you know how they hang out down there ...?"
The officer nods that he knows.
"... well, one of them up and says 'have fun going home with your dog tonight' to which I tooted my bike horn twice like a clown does."
"Oh! This is good," the one officer says to the other two officers and then turns to me and asks for my identification.
I twist my palms towards the officers to indicate no weapons before I reach into my pocket for my wallet and hand the one officer my ID.
After calling in the license number and discovering no record of arrests, the officer hands back my ID and while I put it into my wallet, the officer interrogating asks:
"So, why do you think you're a clown?"
"I don't think I am a clown," I respond. "I use to have a clown stuffed animal when I was a kid, but just that well kids are calling me a chicken."
"Why are they calling you a chicken?"
"Because the landlord got chickens for the backyard where I live."
"OK. Well, what are you going to do now?"
"I have to go to work soon. I am going home and then to work."
"OK. Go straight home and then go to work!"
With that directive, the three, burly officers step to their cruisers with lights flashing and blocking traffic and I leave from leaning against my bike under Longfellow's statue gaze, ride home and go to work.
"I wasn't doing that. I don't hate anybody. The other night, I took off my sweatshirt and lay it over a homeless man in a doorway over there because he looked cold."
"What were you doing?"
"I was riding around crowing like a rooster and honking my bike horn. I don't honk at working folk, cabbies or black and whites," I say in response indicating with my hand the three cruisers in the street with lights flashing, cruisers in Portland, Maine being black and white.
"Why are you doing that?"
"It's going to be a kind of a funny story, if you want to hear it."
"OK," the officer interrogating me says.
"Well, I was walking around VD Port the other day, reading the Casco Bay Jerkly minding my own business when all of a sudden one of those high school kids ... and you know how they hang out down there ...?"
The officer nods that he knows.
"... well, one of them up and says 'have fun going home with your dog tonight' to which I tooted my bike horn twice like a clown does."
"Oh! This is good," the one officer says to the other two officers and then turns to me and asks for my identification.
I twist my palms towards the officers to indicate no weapons before I reach into my pocket for my wallet and hand the one officer my ID.
After calling in the license number and discovering no record of arrests, the officer hands back my ID and while I put it into my wallet, the officer interrogating asks:
"So, why do you think you're a clown?"
"I don't think I am a clown," I respond. "I use to have a clown stuffed animal when I was a kid, but just that well kids are calling me a chicken."
"Why are they calling you a chicken?"
"Because the landlord got chickens for the backyard where I live."
"OK. Well, what are you going to do now?"
"I have to go to work soon. I am going home and then to work."
"OK. Go straight home and then go to work!"
With that directive, the three, burly officers step to their cruisers with lights flashing and blocking traffic and I leave from leaning against my bike under Longfellow's statue gaze, ride home and go to work.
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