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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book.

Oh, you're talking to me?

The local government had been playing a game on me and after I realized what had been going on, I became very frustrated. I could only guess who knew such a thing was going on and I still wonder who all was participating in it. I'm sure the local government had several people working on the scheme of misleading people who were associated with me. I think it's safe to say my neighbors and friends obviously knew someone was tampering with my water supply and if my friend or neighbors did have something to do with it -- they sure weren't about to tell me.
      I recalled the time when I thought I heard a checker at the local grocery store say, "Don't drink your bottled water." However, at the time, my mind was going a million miles an hour. I’m sure it was the result of being wiped out on the drug and I didn't acknowledge the warning at the time I heard it. When she said it, she was facing the cash register with her back turned toward me and my mind was on other things. I wasn't even sure if I was the one she was speaking to, so I inadvertently didn't pay any attention to her warning.

I thought there was a possibility a neighbor (such as my neighbor's son) who might have been talking about my tainted drinking water while at the Local Tavern just a few blocks away from the grocery store on 56th Street. I had to assume the possibility of the gossip finding its way to the checkout line at the grocery store where the checkers may have overheard people talking about it.
      I was sure I knew precisely which checker had warned me about it, and as a quest for more knowledge, I went up to the store to ask her just how she must have known. When I met with her, we were in the store and the situation surrounding us wasn't as private as I would have liked. Of course, she denied knowing anything about it and I more or less expected her denial. Since there was a possibility I might have mistaken her identity for another checker, I asked another who I thought I might have mistaken her for, but the reaction was just the same. I figured if one person knew, they all knew, because they all had been acting a little peculiar towards me in the weeks leading up to the bust.

While my court dates for trial were pending, my truck was parked in the impound yard at the sheriff’s department. I had no control on what they were doing with it or who they might have been showing it to. It was the same kind of feeling as a parent who has had their child taken away by the government. I’d drove by the impound yard a couple times and saw it parked with over half of its windshield painted green. You can be sure every cope noticed it as they drove through the gates. While in the vicinity, I also looked for the address listed in the newspaper as "Synchronized Incorporated.” And to no avail, I couldn't find such a business.
      Mysterious people were planted almost everywhere I went and it was rare to find a place where people didn't know about me. I couldn't help but wonder if some of the things they were saying were true or not. It seemed like every time I found myself in a checkout line at a store, people there were saying things that shouldn't have been known by strangers. At times the things said were very crude -- like the time a man came into the corner grocery store to buy a newspaper and made a comment to the owner, "Maybe the money will come in handy when he gets out of prison in ten years."

One day while standing in a checkout line in the grocery store on 56th Street, I found myself standing behind an older black man with a female accomplice who played off a line evolved from a figment of speech I had made while in jail. As the instigators were trying to make things sound as if I made a living from selling pot, I told the inmates I made a living by painting and said: "I'm just a whore on a brush."
      The black man in front of me in the checkout line said to his accomplice, "They're going to cram a paint brush up his ass when they put him in jail." He chuckled, "I bet it'll come out all brown," and then they both chuckled some more."
      I’d heard things about what has happened to people while they were incarcerated in the in Pierce County Jail. Even my brother in-law, Boob head had told me, he’d been handcuffed to the jail bars, stripped naked, hosed down with a fire hose, and left there hanging overnight. I've also heard about the elevator operator who would stop the elevator between floors, let the cops beat up prisoners.

My biggest fear was the fear of being framed for something worse than what they had me on. I've always known that there are innocent people in prisons all over the place and I knew such a thing was likely to happen to me. The possibility of it happening was there because it would take something more than just some marijuana to put me away for a long time. I realized even if I was sentenced to serve as little as two or three months jail time, I wouldn't be able to pay my bills and it would put me in a situation where I could loose all my possessions because I had no financial support from anyone else.

The next time I went to Superior Court, I was by myself. All the way through the building many of the cops and employees had some kind of comment to say. Most of them were saying, “Their going to throw him in jail today.” They were acting as if I was some kind of dumb shit, and the idea of me getting locked up was an entertaining thought to them. Learning how cruel people actually could be gave me the creeps. It was strange hearing a verdict that only the judge should have known at that point in time. It left me wondering if there was a predetermined verdict planed out for me.
      As I sat waiting in the chairs set outside the glass paneled wall enclosing the court room, a tall African American guy made comments to another guy about the taxes “He,” had not paid and how much trouble “He,” was in. He said, "He's in a lot of trouble. They're going to put him away for a long time." I would say it was the kind of things that people off the street waiting to appear before a judge shouldn't have known about.

The court house seemed like a small world in many ways, because another person I have to add to the list of familiar faces down at the County City Building was a young man who appeared on the stand in front of the judge. I'd met the young man through Rodney a few weeks prior to that day and I got impression they wanted me to see him. The elderly Pudgy dark haired court clerk made a remark to the way she expected a reaction from the two of us noticing each other. She said something like: “I wonder if they will recognize each other.” Sure I’m not a professional at lip reading, but it was plain as day to me. Especially when I could hear most of what she said over the speakers mounted in the ceiling tiles above me.
      In the weeks prior, Rodney wanted to buy some pot from me and asked me to bring an eighth to band practice for him. Once I got there I found out he had mislead me in to thinking it was for him, but in reality the eight was for the young man who found himself standing in front of the same judge as I was about to.
      After the court hearing with the appearance of young man, I had to go to the Department of Assigned Counsel for the reason of getting an attorney assigned to me. While walking down the sidewalk on 11th Street on the south end of the building -- out of the doors in front of me walked the Pudgy court clerk whom spoke of the expected reactions from me and the young man. As she walked along with her colleagues the topic of their discussion was obviously about me. They were laughing about me seeing the other guy and I heard her say, "He's living without electricity." It was obvious that all the court officials having anything to do with my case knew quite a bit about my private life.
      Across the street from the County City Building -- at Department of Assigned Counsel -- I ran into the same young man again. He was sitting in the waiting room. The expression on his face looked as if he knew Rodney had burned him. It’s safe to say our feelings were mutual. We both realized Rodney had set us up.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:

Hay, he's a bankruptcy lawyer!

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