The cuffs were not sharp but they had edges that bit into my skin, not tight but ratcheted and locked, solid and unbreakable.

The policeman took me by the arm and listened as Mrs. Mary and Mr. Kauser and the intern Stephanie discussed whether they could get to the squad car in the loading dock bay from the security office. Mr. Kauser was the head of security for the bookstore, and though he hadn't taken it easy on me, he hadn't been mean to me. As I was being led out, I said "I'd shake your hand, but circumstances don't permit," and thanked him with a shrug. He chuckled and shook his head, looking away and straightening some papers on his desk. Through the stockroom we went, Stephanie first – pierced lip and a nose ring , dressed in black, purple knit purse hanging at her hip – she'd been ready to get off work. Irony, I'd had a class with her long ago. Then the policeman – tall and broad in his charcoal uniform, he was getting old: grey showed in his hair and in his mustache, and behind his glasses, his eyes were steely and tired. His face was long, and seemed somewhat melted. His name was Bradley Davidson. I was led past the tall steel shelves overflowing with books and paper, with folders and pens, brown cardboard boxes everywhere, brown cardboard sheets on the floor. The Mexicans working at the loading dock looked at me with a look of mute disinterested curiosity on their faces, nodding appreciatively at what was happening. my bag, my jacket, and the stolen goods went into the trunk of the squad car. I was surprised at how dexterous Officer Davidson was, moving one handed. Stephanie took her seat up front, and Officer Davidson buckled my seatbelt, in the rear passenger seat. He had some trouble finding the buckle receptacle, because the backs of squad cars are rather small, so I held it for him with one cuffed hand, leaning back so he could snap the seatbelt into place. He thanked me, and I him.

"Well, let's see," he said to stephanie after taking his place behind the wheel, and pulling out of the loading bay. "We need to pick up Bagly at the turn around, and then to the JJC. are we we going to have to take him to the station? I think they have a 4427 athe the JJC."

Stephanie nodded, and said "Yeah, I think they should…"

We glided along in that silent short way that police cars move, between the buildings, through gaggles of students. All the while, sun poured in through the windows. The clouds of the morning had broken after my arrest.

The car pulled to a stop, and another officer opened up the rear drivers side door and got in next to me, crouching to get in, and putting his campaign hat in the rear shelf.

"Hi Brad! how's it going?" he said through the plexiglass divider (halfway open).

"Ah, I'm doing fine," Officer Davidson replied.

"Hello, Prisoner," this other policeman said to me. "How's the Prisoner today?"

"Oh," I said with a rueful smile, "I'm doing ok. and you?"

"Doing well."

His name tag, silver on his left breast pocket, said M. Bagly. He was short and stocky, in the same charcoal grey uniform, with brown hair and a neat brown mustache. He had an intelligent look about him, he looked like the sort of person who would wear a sweater and read Hemingway with a cat.

Officer Davidson spoke up.

"Hey Mike, do you know if JJC has the 4427's, or do we need to go down to the station?"

"Yeh, yeah, they have them." Officer Bagly spoke rapidly, but clearly. "Stephanie, you can just go up front, and sign the affadavit. We'll just take the prisoner around back."

We were now in a residential area, pretty close to downtown…a brick building, looking like a hospital: brown brick with cream stone trim, big mirrored windows, and a full parking lot. The car stopped up front, and let Stephanie out. It was the last time I saw her.

Officer Bagly leaned forward.

"Have you been here since they remodeled, Brad?"

"Nah…what's it like?"

"You'll see…just pull around here."

We pulled up to a large steel door, set into the basement level wall, a large steel door painted blue, and hinged. The words "POLICE ENTRANCE" were stenciled across the door. There was a call box.

"OK," said Officer Bagly, "Just push the button, like over at the SSC."

"Hello – this is Davidson bringing the 550 from the University bookstore."

A sonorous female negro voice came back, snappy and happy: "Why, hello Brad! just come on in!"

The door slowly collapsed inward, and we pulled forward.

Officer Davidson laughed, and said "This is pretty cool." Officer Bagly just beamed.



coming next: the stay at juvie.



as you can gather, i was arrested today. for shoplifting a text book. i didn't want to ask my parents for money, even though i know they could give it to me. they're good people, but i don't want to take from them, any more.



when i got out they wanted to know why. i told them because text books were over priced, because i didn't want to ask them for money, and i didn't want to go to school in the first place.



"don't you want to get a college degree?" they say. "don't you know what you want in your future?"



so i nod and say yes for their benefit. but i have a hard enough time justifying staying alive.



i don't know i don't know.