If you drink a lot of vodka before walking your dog, it kind of feels like he’s helping you solve a crime.
Here to walk us through the some of the minor atrocities committed in Rye, NY is my little brother, Oliver. First up, above is the Rye Nature Center, where teachers from my high school would sneak off for lunchtime pot-smoking.
Speaking of which, a drug-addled friend of mine was let go from his job at this Gulf gas station. Still in possession of the keys to the place, he tried to burglarize it, and was arrested.
One day, my friend John, a fireman for the Rye Fire Department, was in front of the firehouse when a kid approached him dragging a bike with a lock through its front wheel. The kid asked John if he could borrow a saw to cut through “his” lock, so John gave him one with an extra-dull blade, and called the police. A cop pulled up, rolled down his window and told the kid he’d give him a ride. The kid put the bike in the trunk of the car, got in the back seat, and the cop drove him to jail.
My dad was a podiatrist, and on the lower right was his office. Nowadays, it’s a law firm. This is more of a crime against humanity. Ollie sent a message.
