pardon my grammar, but in my attempt to jump start my mind ive been looking through old emails trying to find things i sent to myself and i found this. writen by myself back in 2005. enjoy or dont.
Its 3 am and I can faintly hear the thuds of chopper blades cutting through the night over the voices of drunken ranting outside my window. One of the voices says “Whats with all these heliopopters today?”“Its helicopters you drunk bastard,” another voice says “and there looking for that guy.” “What guy?” “That guy who shot a cop on Tom Miller road.” Two female voices gasp and one says “Oh my gawd,” in a thick Long Island accent “Thats terrible.” In all actuality terrible isnt the word. It should be more like mortifying, or grotesque, or even ironic. Because tonight in this tiny lake side town there was supposed to be a celebration. It was over two hundred years ago when the then miniscule U.S. navy defeated the British who were at the time the greatest naval fleet in the world. The fireworks started popping at about 9 and then shortly after i heard the news shoot out through the speakers of the stereo that this tragedy had occured, and the rest of the night people kept questioning if it had been resolved or not. I knew the situation was really bad when two kids came into the store and told me about there attempted travels down the Tom Miller road “Its like a war zone one,” one kid said. The said only “Mother fuckers had shotguns and shit son.” Then about fifteen minutes later two uniformed police men entered the store. The both were wearing bullet proof vests with there holsters unbuttoned ready to draw at a seconds notice. When they approaced the counter I ask “How you gentlemen this evening?” The two of them were both two stunned two react to the question at first, and trying to keep there sense of authority and posture one replies “Its been a rough night but were holding on.” I question about the goings on at the other end of town and the one who speaks stones up and doesnt say a word. The other I could see him holding back the urge to just break down like a shell shock victim being asked about the war. Thats when I knew the Battle for Plattsburgh had begun.