Mike and I went to the Southside to visit our friend Piotr. 11 PM, Mike's rickety VW van pulls in front of Piotr's- an old warehouse in the middle of littered vacant lots in some shitty desolate ghetto. It was always a quick hop from the car to the front door...never any dawdling lest some fucker springs from nowhere and trouble ensues. Except this time we arrived unexpected and we had to go around back to throw rocks at his window. When Piotr's head poked into the window, Mike and I made our way around to the front to be let in. Headlights from a passing car flashed their high beams on us and I got an immediate sense of dread when I noticed it was a cop car. Any second now, I thought. The cop car turned around and cruised up beside us -

"Hey Dick and Harry"...bloated cop, mustache, typical dumbfuck Chicago look..."C'mere!"

I was expecting this. What are two white guys doing in this shithole? Driving up in a broken-down van? One long-haired and bearded, the other fruity? What sort of business were we up to? Just be calm and give them no reason to harass us. That wasn't possible, of course.

"What the fuck are you doing?", asks the police officer.

"Just visiting a friend."

"Where? In that fucking building? Yea right!"

The tone of his voice really took me by surprise. I though, okay, this guy will be an asshole but will just ask for ID and ask a couple questions. But by the arrogance, antagonism and hostility in his voice, I knew this was going to take a while. The freshfaced young cop in the passenger seat and the butch woman in the backseat had the same hard look of stiff mouths and mocking eyes. Their movements were quick and bold yet with a certain nervous anxiety to them. I had already tensed up with anger and fear.

"Take those silly fucking glasses off when you talk to me! What the fuck?! Fucking faggot! You really look stupid!"...giggles from his cronies..."let me see some fucking ID"

That's when Piotr comes traipsing up- skinny, gaunt, shaved head, leather jacket, thick Polish accent, "What's going on guys?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I am Piotr- I live here."

"Piotr? What the fuck kind of name is that? You a wop? a polock?"

"Piotr...it's Polish."

"Right! You're a fucking polock! Let me see some ID, polock!"

"It's upstairs in my place, just let me get it..."

"NO! YOU STAY RIGHT THE FUCK WHERE YOU ARE POLOCK! WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR ID?! YOU FUCKING POLOCK!"

"It's upstairs, I'll get it real quick." Piotr turns slightly towards his door...

"DON'T FUCKING MOVE ASSHOLE OR I'LL BLOW YOUR FUCKING POLOCK HEAD OFF!!!" A gun is immediately shoved in Piotr's face.

Oh fuck! As soon as I saw the gun pulled I quickly turned my back to it. I could not handle the violent tension, the gun, the threat...and knowing Piotr's unpredictable behavior - the result. Thankfully he appeased them, shut up and became submissive. The tension subsided a bit and the put us in our place. "If your going to be in a nigger neighborhood, you're going to be treated like a nigger," the younger cop explained as he frisked us and made a pathetic attempt at playing 'the good cop'.

"What the fuck do you do in that building?"

"I make films."

"What kind of films? Fuck flicks? You make fuck flicks?"...I laughed inside because, yea... Piotr pretty much makes 'fuck-flicks'. An arty sort of porn, but yea, fuck-flicks.

"No...uh, I make short films. Art films."

When they found we were clean they had us bring them into the building. Inside, they had us sit on the floor as they looked around. The space was filthy, somewhat undeveloped, cluttered with junk - bikes, plastic ornaments, toys, fiberglass insulation, toys, industrial metal scraps...the heavy smell of cat piss was always present. They immediately looked around in Piotr's room...probably hoping there were some fuck-flicks showing. Some other residents wandered in and were sat down on the floor and asked the usual questions. Tim, the fellow who signed the lease and dealt with any problems with the space, played a somewhat convincing straightman explaining the 'artist' living situation. The cops didn't seem fully convinced, but satisfied - still suspicious...certainly bewildered. They left muttering pleasantries, disappointed that wild coke orgies weren't being filmed.

The zinger is that a month or so later Tim got a call from a police detective. Evidently the cops had the building under suspicion for kiddie porn because of all the film equipment and toys. HA!

- Gregory