“Great idea," I said. "Call the police. Call the fucking police.”

“Shh, mi amor. The neighbors will hear and call the police.”

“The police called it choking, but I called it a two-handed neck hug. That’s how I knew she really loved me.”

“The case called for plain, old-fashioned police leg work!”

“He laughs and turns up the music so that I can hear it in the back. The speakers blast out: ‘Streets like a jungle, so call the police.’‘Call the police,’ I smile, ‘fuck the police’ nodding my head to the beat. The guard turns it up even more.‘Yeah, fuck the police for stitching me up and presenting their dodgy evidence,’ I think to myself. Fuck them for getting me put away for seven instead of the four or five I should have got.A new song comes on and I’m merrily tapping my feet while the guard sings along up front to The Clash. ‘Fighting the nation. Police and thieves in the street, oh yeah…Oh yeah! Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition. Police and thieves in the street. Oh yeah. Fighting the nation with their guns and ammunition’.Ha ha. The DJ on the radio is on my side. The Securicor men are on my side. And I’m heading back to civilisation and as many drugs as I can get my hands on. Everything’s going my way. There must be a song about that, too.”

“When only cops have guns, it's called a police state.”