High Tea (Glock Edition)
It’s Monday. I have a meeting in a coffee shop frequented by Portland Police. Everyone in the joint has a gun and a badge, except me.
We’re in line behind a guy whose body language fairly screams, “Cop!” The man’s built like a Buick, about six-foot-thirty, with a bald head and a goatee.
The fellow I’m there to meet had been called out the night before on a shooting. As we queue up for coffee, I say to him, “So. If you were out last night, you missed the finale of ‘Downton Abbey.’”
The huge, bald cop spins and scowls at me. He’s got a voice like he gargles granite.
“No spoilers, dude!”
Couldn’t make this up.