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I was on a case,
hired to tail a skirt
wearing a trench coat
and a black, wide brimmed felt hat.
I was given a snap shot
for identification.

Obviously,
an out-of-towner;
she was examining a map
of Los Angeles.
I assumed
it was Los Angeles…

Assumption
has led me to trouble
more times than I’d care to remember.
I once assumed a hop head wasn’t packing.
He pulled a gat and pumped my leg
with a couple of slugs.

I watched her
from behind a newspaper.
She looked nervous.
A hack pulled up,
she took the back seat.
I tailed from two cars behind.

Just another day
as a Private Investigator.
Shamus, peeper, bird dog, blood hound;
that’s what I’m sometimes called
by people who like me.
Usually, they’re not so polite.

 

 

Sample  my books for free — proceeds feed the homeless:
Gotta Find a Home: Conversations with Street People
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