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Nighthawk
She is a lithe puma discretely checking her pager
with the natural grace of a woman consulting a
compact mirror. It slips neatly into her leather
fanny pack that she touches automatically as if
she is feeling for a holstered gun. She cases the
party for the crime going down. Blended with
the bookcase, she can't detect the theft of souls.
She is: " MY- DAUGHTER- THE- COP. " Has given
her Officer Friendly speech for the crime curious,
who truly care for purposes of real estate. She
complains of long nights driving, irregular meals
of coffee and donuts. Likes the action, the chase,
thrills, the hunt. Rookie cops on Dog Watch find
the wait unbearable, lonely, tiring. Their dreams
dwindle to the fantasy of an all night diner in
every precinct.
As she bids her mother farewell, her foot shakes.
It shakes like Conrad's in Ordinary People. Only,
she can always talk to her mother. "I hate the drunk
and disorderly calls. I can't handle it when men cry.
It's easier to deal with ass holes." Men cry and she
shares this with her mother, connects with her femi-
nine nature. Softened from an impersonal avenger,
she delays the plaster hardening on her death mask,
hanging on the wall.
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