It was a beautiful Sunday morning, even though no one had notified everyone that it wasn’t Saturday night anymore. It was about 60° at 2:00 a.m. Perfect walking weather. Sounds carry through the air almost infinitely.
Because it was so early on a Sunday morning, I knew the crazies would be out. I barely cleared the trail crossing on Poplar before hearing the glorious early morning serenade of multiple women screaming and slapping each other. I’ll put a video as a comment. I took it from about a quarter of a mile away. The slapping sounds like fireworks. I turned on Chestnut because I misjudged the origin.
I wound my way through the Chestnut II apartments as the screaming intensified.
“I’m not drunk, Dad. That b**** is gonna get smashed.” Multiple young women were walking in circles and either talking on their phones or screaming. I walked right through them like I was on a safari. The nexus of the tumult was a few feet away at a corner apartment, where other women were in various stages of demonstrating humankind’s lack of advancement. I felt sorry for the dad who had been awakened between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. by his daughter clearly demonstrating that she was in fact drunk.
As fierce as the screaming was, I knew it was all bluster. Before I made it back to the side street, I saw one of Fayetteville’s finest rolling into the area. I wish I could have stuck around to hear the police say “STFU and go to bed” multiple times. But there’s always one alcohol-fueled person who insists on getting bracelets to mark the occasion. Another police car soon followed. I’m guessing they were bored and wanted to watch a live-action version of Jerry Springer.
There were enough angry women to fill the Razorback’s defensive line. I’m betting there was a man named Chad or Marquise somehow at the center of it all. My half of the species is invariably at the crux of this kind of late night / early morning anger.
The picture is one I took in near darkness. I stood on Miller Street, watching the driver try to figure out how to make a turn. There’s no question that whoever was in the car was using Jack Daniels as their GPS.
A picture I took in almost total darkness, looking south toward the hill on Woolsey. It’s a very popular deer path at that hour of the morning.
When I came into the apartment, I forgot that I had totally sweet talked a cat into letting me pet it. When I got down on the ground it walked all over me and rubbed on my head. Güino knows. 🙂
