With his left hand, the one where he wore simple gold wedding band, he tugged at his thick, scruffy beard, as red in color as my mother’s hair. I cleared my sore throat and forced myself to look upwards at the tall man standing over me in a western-style black hat that matched his beige-and-black uniform that included a nice, shiny badge and a gun on his belt. I was also pretty sure that I was going to puke soon, and I had nothing to say for myself. I held my head in my hands as I sat in a very uncomfortable blue, plastic chair, the kind they made us use in junior high. 'Minor consumption, disturbing the peace, resisting arrest- assault! Those are only some of the charges I should be racking you and your friends up with right now! Nelson Larmont, what the hell were you thinking?'
Another A/N: special thanks to Mary, too.
