walk_on raze people have been driving like maniacs in this city for years now. there might as well not be any speed limit anywhere. most of the streets are glorified drag strips. pedestrians have been hit and killed while standing stock-still on the sidewalk. earlier this year, a man in a van drove through the living room window of a house on riviera drive and sent a seventy-three-year-old woman in a rocking chair hurtling into her own back yard like a human rag doll. she died at the hospital. the cops have dealt with this problem by announcing to the public once every year or two that for one day they're going to be cracking down on traffic violations. they let everyone know where they're going to be and when. that way the guilty parties can avoid those areas and go on endangering the lives of everyone around them unimpeded, and the cops can go on getting paid to do nothing. you take it upon yourself to protest in front of the police station. you make a sign designed to shame them into doing something. anything. after you park the car, you catch a man emptying your meter of all the change it holds. "if you give me a quarter, i'll give you two hours," he says. you ask him if he's sure he wants to do that. "yeah," he says. "hopefully it'll be a good start to your day." you hand him a quarter. he hands you a toonie. you feed it into the meter's mouth. you walk to the police station and hoist up your sign so anyone near enough to see you can read what it says. two cops come out of the front door. one of them asks if anyone has talked to you yet. you tell him you just got here. "have you considered putting in a complaint online?" he asks. "i've been putting in complaints for years," you say. he turns his back on you and walks away. three young officers nod. another smiles, yells "yes!" and offers a fist bump. a gaggle of teenage girls gives you a glut of dirty looks. there are people racing right here, a stone's throw from the station. from the other side of the street, an old man screams, "fucking jack daniels! where's my fucking jack daniels?" two geese honk overhead. to you they seem to say, "keep going." so you walk on. 250407 what's it to you? who go blather from