Wet Heat

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Another day on the beat.  I had a purse snatching, a missing mouse, and now this, a peeping tom.  From the description I knew it was my old friend Louie the Lip.  I found him hanging out by the Do Buzz In, an unlicensed fly joint.  We had him in the line up in no time, but frogs are notoriously hard to I. D., even to each other.  Louie skated but I had his number.  Every time he showed an inch of tongue I was there to make it stick, and stick hard.  We finally found Louie in a pool of blood, back legs gone.  He died before I could get a description, but I'm pretty sure it was the guy we call Frenchy, a mass murderer with no face or name, we just hung that tag on him in order to give him some personality.
Some days ain't worth getting out of bed for.



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