The police station was accommodated in an old building, a school from the 19th century.
It took me three hours to get anywhere near Benny.
They had me fill out seven forms, both sides, all identical. The policeman in charge ripped two forms apart, and I had to start again. “Hand slipped.” His comment slapped my ears. This was nothing but mile high harassment. I knew it. The policeman knew it, and I tried not to get too angry. Continue reading “the lion roars (2)”