When some people look for a new perspective on life, they do things like learn to fly a plane, or climb Mount Everest, or some shit like that. I decided to move to Hathian. It's not too far from New Orleans, and a lot like it... only without the culture, the good food, Mardi Gras, etc... Oh, and it has like forty-six times more crime. The amount of hostility here is way beyond anything I could classify as "normal". On a normal day, the mental well being of the collective residents of Hathian is roughly equivalent to a stadium full of Lakers fans hyped up on PCP.

My first day here I got to talking to a woman I met at this shitty hamburger place. I came to find out that she was also one of the town's paramedics. She proceeded to tell me an unsolicited story about how she had her baby cut out of her stomach when she was eighteen by one of the local townsfolk. She went on the chastise me for... what? I don't really know, but she seemed pissed at me. It's a wonderful feeling to know that if I get a couple holes shot in me, the town's first responder is batshit insane. Nifty.

Less than an hour after my first day here on the good 'ol HPD started, I was already out in the field hunting for gang members. I spent a joyous afternoon with a lieutenant and a senior officer. Both of them look like gang members, but the lieutenant actually still looks like a gang member when he's in uniform. The other officer, Macbain, now she is pretty badassed. That's a cop I would feel safe having my back anytime. She's definitely of the "doesn't take shit from anyone" variety. Anyway, the situation at hand is a gang called the "Rejects" who seem to enjoy petty vandalism. I still can't even begin to figure out how in the blue fuck they got that stupid smiley face all the way up on the Daily Grind's thirty foot tall coffee cup.

This morning I woke up to find three teenage girls running down the street in front of the police station laughing, having just stolen the wallet of some poor bastard who was in hot pursuit behind them. It was like some fucked up Norman Rockwell painting. Then an eight year old girl was dropped off (abandoned) by her mother at the station. I called in for a paramedic to look at her, the guy's name is Rog and he's also pretty damned cool. I know I"m going to like working with that guy.

Anyway, girl's fine. Mom's nowhere to be seen, but I'm dragging my feet on the paperwork. I'm hoping some other situation presents itself so I don't have to toss her into the system. She's staying at my house tonight, while the next door neighbor's daughter babysits her while I'm not around.

Anyway, good night. Macbain and I arrested some guy for assault. His skank girlfriend is out in the lobby, as we speak, screaming and moaning and demanding that she be allowed to post bail for him and generally just acting like a meth-freak. Thirty seven minutes until my shift ends.