My walk home is never predictable; sometimes there’s a bike cop escort, sometimes there’s a police car escort and sometimes there’s a helicopter escort. Kids are smoking and taking things from other kids. I begin thinking, “Why are the police here and, what good are they here to do?” When I get home, I refl ect on my day. I think about what I have accomplished and I can’t help but to think nothing. As I drift off to sleep to the sounds of the helicopter, I see that the day is turning into night.