Running from the Police with a China Bowl of Cocaine

My soon to be old apartment was packed full of moving boxes when two police officers happened to stroll by the open front door.

One of them stopped and peered in the apartment before casually asking, “What’s in the boxes?”

“Not cocaine,” I said.

The other officer swiveled his head, raising an eyebrow at me.

In the time the two of them exchanged glances, I ran in the other direction back towards the bedroom. Yielding a pocketknife, seemingly from nowhere but presumably from out of my pocket, I slashed the tape on one of the moving boxes and snatched out an intricate China bowl I had never seen in my life and a brick of cocaine.

I hastily sliced open the brick and dumped the contents into the China bowl, nearly half of it spilling on the floor as I abandoned the rest of the brick, tossing it over my shoulder. I shoved my entire face in the China bowl and snorted a hefty amount of cocaine before taking off for the back balcony.

How did I do all of this so quickly, you ask? Cocaine.

Here I was, running for my life carrying this China bowl full of cocaine.

This is the part of the movie where the frame freezes and the record scratches and I say something along the lines of, “Yup, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.”

And this next paragraph isn’t to explain some sort of back story, I was simply acknowledging the audacity of it all.

So here I was, runnin’ and sniffin’, runnin’ and sniffin’. And then I black out.

When I come to, I am stumbling around a remote area and am wearing an orange jumpsuit. Using what clearly appears to be some extreme detective skills, I deduce that I have recently escaped prison.

I pull out my iPhone, again, seemingly out of nowhere but presumably from my pocket (do jumpsuits have pockets?) and call my Dad.

“Dad,” I’m panting, “You have to come get me.”

“I thought you were in prison.”

“Not anymore. Evidently, I’m a fugitive on the run.”

“Are you kidding me? I can’t pick you up.”

I stopped for a moment, resting my hand on my hip. “Can’t you, like, just send me somewhere? Come on, Dad.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?”

And then I woke up.




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Ellie Blake

Ellie Blake

Welcome to my shit show.

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