It's the little things in life...

A lazy Saturday nap was interrupted by the excitement of my mother, who yelled into my room, "Come see! The police are here! They're arresting the neighbor boy!"

Now, considering the fact that we live in what is technically defined as South Central Los Angeles, you'd think this would be a regular occurence (at least judging by the way some of my friends act when they come visit). It's not. Thanks to the last time I called the cops (for the very boring reason to tow a car that was blocking our driveway), I have learned that our neighborhood is relatively boring. No real gang affiliation. No gang activity. We're just a little street filled with families and large Victorian houses left behind when the rich people of Downtown fled for the safety of suburbia. So the fact that five cop cars came to arrest one little kid? A big deal. It's completely clear when I stepped out onto our porch and discovered people spilling out of house after house, goggle-eyed and fascinated at the spectacle before them. Four cop cars, flashing lights, and a young man in hand cuffs, looking terrified as he stood next to the cars.

The silliness of this is monumental when you realize what ACTUALLY happened. You see, our little quiet neighborhood does have a couple of hiccups. One of them is the boys across the street. Young men in their late teens and early twenties who literally have nothing to do but hang out around their house in the street and generally annoy the rest of the neighborhood by popping fireworks anytime they have any semblance of a reason (ILLEGAL) or zooming up and down the street in a very noisy, very annoying mini-motorcyle (also ILLEGAL), or working with their 'band' and drumming at all hours.

Guess which one attracted the attention of the police? One of the men/boys/peterpanguys was taking a noisy little joyride up and down the street, when the blare of sirens was suddenly heard.

"STOP RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!" came the demand.

What could have been a fine instead turned into hysteria when the boy zoomed back down the block and ran into the house.

Because that would stop the police. Because they LOVE when you run from them.

Fastforward to twenty minutes later, and witness four police cars and a tow truck (to confiscate the MINI BIKE) standing around discussing the situation with the massive crowd that spilled from the house, and you have quite a tame circus. The finale? The police letting the kid go an hour later.

I blinked, and went back to bed, thankful that at least I could take my nap without the buzz of that damn minibike.