Editors Note:


EDITOR'S NOTE: Fresh off a three year managerial stint, your friendly neighborhood lenslinger is back on the street and under heavy deadline. As the numbing effects of his self-imposed containment wear off, vexing reflections and pithy epistles are sure to follow...

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Slow Your Roll

At a quarter past ten The Stranger burst through the door. Bearded and wet, he spoke to no one. Instead, he skirted the edges of the raucous crowd, his long coat glistening with angry raindrops. For all the armed law enforcers in the room, no one unsnapped their holsters - at first. Instead, the deputies and debutants strained to hear each other’s small talk as syncopated jingoism poured out of hidden loudspeakers. The Stranger seemed grateful for the cover. Scanning the far end of the room, he spotted his target by the refreshment table: a rumpled incumbent surrounded by a pack of supporters high on victory, Sweet Tea and Lee Greenwood’s greatest hits. Though no smile crossed The Stranger’s face, his grim expression did brighten a little as he made a bee-line for the freshly re-elected Sheriff.

Side-stepping past a group of grannies, the dripping interloper squeezed by three bailiffs stuffing brownies down their throats. They too didn’t ignored him as crumbs collected in the folds of their polyester shirts. With every deliberate step, The Stranger drew closer to the man whose name adorned cock-eyed yard signs near and far. Not until he came within feet of the county’s top lawman, did someone notice the uninvited guest. Yards away, am off-duty vice detective in a J.C. Penny suit clocked the visitor in the shiny wet cloak. Instinctively, the detective moved forward - knowing only that The Stranger’s grimace was out of place in such a festive atmosphere. Quickening his own pace, the veteran investigator slid through gaps in the packed house. Something about the way The Stranger kept his hands jammed in his pockets struck the detective as hinky, and he aimed to beat the man to his beloved boss...

That’s when my photog senses started tingling and I realized I was about to be searched, shackled or simply shot by a man whose paranoia my tax dollars pay for. With that in mind, I slowly removed my hands from my pockets, flashed a TV station business card to all who would look before handing it over to the grumpy incumbent. Minutes later, the three of us stood by my camera, As the sheriff answered the inanity emmiting from his earpiece, the vice cop and I took turns staring at each other. While he did his best to burn white-hot holes through the side of my skull, I made a mental note not to bum-rush a show outside my jurisdiction without first flashing an official logo or two. And you wonder why I abhor politics...

No comments: