Eight Cop Cars, No Ambulance

Another late night working in a cozy downtown office... then the bars close and shit happens, in this case, violence outside a club on Crescent Street. Beer bottles thrown at people, at cars, one girl's head slit open, fights start - it's not a pretty scene.

It takes a couple of minutes before a cop car shows up, but when it does, reinforcements are called in. Quickly enough there's five of them, then six, then seven, then eight. But they never think to call the girl an ambulance, and she lays there in a pool of her own blood, shaking, convulsing, while onlookers take pictures with their phones rather than call for help.

And even amidst this chaos, despite there being 14 cops for less than 10 people, new fights erupt.

Some time passes, and the commotion reaches a cold silence - from my distance at least. But the girl still lays on the cold, wet rainy Montréal cement.

Fuck you, you stupid assholes - I'll call her one myself.

Now I'll shut my window, because they forced me into their shit - and I enter and leave shit on my own terms.