justice wilson

N. tells me that when I become a cop, I will change my name to Justice Wilson. N. also informs me that when I retire from being a cop, I will write a memoir, the title of which will be, "Stop! In the Name of Justice." Or something like that. I forget exactly. N. has a lot of confidence that I will be a cop. N. believes (apparently) that I would be a good cop. My commanding presence, I guess. As he handcuffs law-breakers and loads them into the back of a squad car, my hypothetical partner will say things like, "Yeah, I know she doesn't look dangerous, but believe me... Man, I can't even tell you the stories I've heard. I get nightmares."

In an unrelated real-life story, the courthouse deputy once told me that the other deputies wondered for the longest time who I was. They always saw me in court when they were transporting prisoners. "Is she some sort of repeat felon?" they would ask (the defense lawyers didn't ask. They just assumed I was and were glad they hadn't been appointed to represent me yet). "Man," the courthouse deputy told them, in an eerie mimic of my hypothetical partner, "you don't even want to hear half the stories I know."

But anyway. Back to my imminent career change: As Justice Wilson, I can smell truth and suss out the bitter brine of lies. I can shoot lasers, sausages and bullets from my eyes (sausages only come out of the left eye). I can run twenty miles like they're nothing, uphill, in the rain, against the wind. My stomach, reinforced by steel, can take the most military-grade of all military-grade coffee. Not content to drink coffee, in fact, I swallow the grounds straight from the tin. The only water I drink: my enemies' tears.

So, yeah, look forward to that.