Cop Out

On the morning of my 21st birthday I became the youngest man to have ever pinned on the badge of an Oakland police officer. On that date, I could vote, I could legally drink, and I was armed.

The feel and cut of a police uniform, the smell and weight of leather belts, a holstered gun, highly polished black boots, the silver star over my left tit, and the requisite metal-rimmed dark glasses, assaulted my senses like an opiate each night in the police locker room. Overnight, I was inducted int...