ride along (late transmission)
the city sounds different after midnight. the sirens don't scream. they sigh. something happening somewhere else. and every time i hear one fade into the distance. i think of them. malloy and reed. adam-12. two uniforms. two heartbeats moving in sync down some forgotten boulevard.
when i was kid, i used to picture myself in their squad car. back seat. window cracked. the smell of 70s leather. reed would laugh at something small. or make a nervous joke. malloy would tell him to snap out of it. focus on the streets. look for something shifty, something out of place.
i didn't know what i wanted from them exactly. maybe to be seen. maybe to belong somewhere between their easy silence and the flash of the red-blue light. they'd do anything for each other. i used to wonder what that kind of loyalty felt like on my skin.
years later, the reruns still play on some off-brand cable channel. i keep the volume low. let their expressions tell the story i want to hear. sometimes i imagine they are still out there. patrolling an endless los angeles night. windows down. eyes tired. waiting for a call.
somewhere in the fantasy, i'm still in that backseat. listening. wanting. pretending that for a single shift, i was a part of their story.