Pawpaw just came home from a raid. I quit working with the SWAT team fifteen years ago, when I realized I had lost a step, was breathing awfully heavy at the end of a workout, had more trouble than usual keeping up on a run. SWAT is for the younger kids, and an old man out there might get someone hurt.
However, I am asked to come play occasionally, and tonite we raided a lounge that was preying on underage drinkers. Way underage. We wrote something over 300 citations to underage patrons of the lounge. There were a lot of us old farts around, to process the unbelievable number of violations. We had officers there from a number of different agencies, including the Fire Marshall and Probation & Parole, along with the usual assortment of juvenile officers.
The owners and operators of the lounge are, of course, guests at the Sheriff's hostel tonight. They probably won't get much sleep, having to process, shower, and get issued a jumpsuit and mattress. The Sheriff runs a really poor bed and breakfast.
Pawpaw is unbelievably tired. It is 5:15 a.m. and I just walked in the door and took my boots off. It's time for a nap.