A month or so ago, I was sitting there in the fortified intake room at the police station. Behind dark aquarium glass, officers were working on dispatch and intake work. They will talk to you if you lift up the phone. On the wall is a bulletin board with a clipboard listing all the Level Three sex offenders and where they live. I was killing time, waiting to see our police chief to talk to him about crack pipes. (see Crack is Back, April) He was never to appear.
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