I have no idea how this happened. One minute I was waitressing at what I loving call Brews for Coos, the next minute I’m standing in a line up at the cop shop. Only would this happen to me. I wasn’t there, I don’t even know the dude, but since I look like the “perp,” I get my ass hauled in.
“Number 3, step forward,” the voice filled with static demands of me. What choice do I have?
The next thing I know, the others are leaving the room and the cops have me in cuffs. Seriously? So what if there are some bald spots in my memory of last night? So what if I had blood on my blouse, it was probably from that bitch I punched in the bar?
I vaguely saw my reflection in a window as they ushered me down the hall to booking. My hair stood up in different directions, looking like I hit the jackpot in bed, my makeup pooled in dark circles below my eyes.
“Face forward,” the woman cop said. “Don’t worry honey, you look great, and yeah, you’re worth a million bucks. Good, now face to the left.”
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