Fifty-Four
Best Served Cold
Chaos. That’s the best way to describe it.
Wes and two other constables move quickly to the left stairs off the elevated council seats, toward Kelly who has stopped yelling and now has her bag thrown over her shoulder and is obviously preparing to make a quick exit.
She is instead stopped, questioned about her identity, to which she starts shrieking again about “rights” and “this is all lies” and “I need my phone call,” even though no one has yet wrapped her in a pair of the zip-ties all the officers have dangling from their belts. It’s not until she lashes out with a long-nailed hand that she is introduced to our eco-friendly maroon carpet.
As one constable restrains Kelly’s wrists, another helps her to her knees. Wes crouches before her and I can see his
