Just before 6:30AM this morning I was awakened by banging on my door. When I asked who it was, I was informed it was the police. Sure enough, there was what appeared to be a SWAT team huddled in the small hallway outside my door. They burst in, sweeping my apartment with their assault shotguns and pistols. They had armor and everything. It was like something out of Rainbow Six.

They got me up against a wall (my movie screen, actually) and started searching my apartment. They kept calling me Mr. Greene, which was the name of my landlord. I was concerned that my cats might get out the open door and I told them so, but no one seemed to care. They didn’t frisk me. I guess they could see I wasn’t packing heat in my undershorts. Well, you know what I mean.

Then this severe black dude right out of a movie comes up to me and asks, “Where does your landlord live and don’t give me no bullshit because we know he lives here.” I told him the landlord didn’t live here but his brother lived across the hall. I could see them searching my bedroom and bathroom and closet and kitchen. No, no meth lab in there, boys. Just to be thorough, they tore the lid off my House of Whack game box and checked in there too.

Then they decided to try the door across the hall. RB, my neighbor, asked several times who it was and said he was naked. They said they didn’t mind and then burst through *his* door. There was RB, a nice friendly kind of guy, all naked and up against his kitchen counter. They said they had a warrant for his arrest. One of the police asked if they should take me in too, but they decided not to.

I can still hear them over there, doing something. I’m afraid to open the door and look.

ADDENDUM: I couldn’t stand not knowing, so I opened the door just now. RB was seated out on the front steps, handcuffed, under the watchful eye of a police officer. RB looked up at me and gave a rueful grin as if to say “Ah, well.” I told him I had called his brother. The police guy said it was best if we didn’t talk to each other. I saw into RB’s open apartment. There were huge bags of pot on the floor along with large scales. Ah, well, indeed. I feel bad for RB; he seems like such a nice guy. He installed my swamp cooler.