THE COP inched toward the preoccupied man swaying pathetic by big garbage cans out in the pelting rain.
THE COP lowered his right hand to rest, coiled and ready, just above his weapon. “Little late…” he rasped.
The lost cause of a man turned to face THE COP with eyes deliciously bewildered and afraid. “This is my house,” came the small, tinny voice.
The COP un-flexed his gun arm and trigger finger as the hopeless flop bustled away like a beat-down wind-up toy, disappearing through a heavy gate and crooked rectangle door.
I don't know anything 