Animal farm song I was running

Animal farm song

I was running on two hours of animal farm song thats the only rest I get on the weekends in between working all night as a doorman at a neighborhood club, and all day as a waiter at a local cafe. Harold is a full-time student in Jackson, Mississippi, and needed a ride to school. Hes a 25 year-old Navy vet whos been crashing on couches and riding on the hospitality of friends like myself and others until he gets back on his feet. Like most people in my state, neither of us have much in the way of finances or influence, but we can all get by if we help each other out. Thats why the South is so famous for our hospitality youll never get kinder treatment than the kind given from folks who have nothing to give. Most of us animal farm song share freely without expecting any favors in return. Just a block from my house, Harold saw a beautiful woman on the side of the road with a flat tire. While he had been silent most of the morning, he perked up and asked me to turn around and help her out. Even though there were several parking lots around for me to use for a turnabout, I made an illegal u-turn in the middle of the road. And of course, a JPD officer swerved into the lane directly behind me and turned on his lights. I pulled over into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, feeling the sharp sting of irony as the woman in distress pulled away and got back into traffic just as quickly as I was stopped. I think Im fittin to go to jail, man, Harold said with a sigh as the officer walked toward my car. For those unfamiliar with Mississippis inner city dialects, Fittin to is a mangled version of fixin to, or about to. After the officer examined my documents and told me I was going to be cited, he peered into my car and looked at Harold in the passenger seat. The officer questioned my friend, spent a few minutes in his patrol car, then walked back to the passengers side window. Step out of the car please, sir. Harold nodded slowly and opened the door, automatically put his hands in the air as he stood up. After some quick chatter on his radio, the officer pressed Harold up against the side of my car, patted him down quickly, and promptly put him in handcuffs. He led Harold back to the patrol car and pushed him into the backseat. I felt queasy, and could feel myself starting to sweat. I went through the address book in my phone, looking for someone I could call to get my best friend out of jail. It was Harolds 25th birthday, and it looked like he was going to have to call his mother to ask if she could post his bail. Ten long minutes later, I looked into my rearview mirror and saw the officer open Harolds door, release him from the handcuffs, and let him walk away. Harold was laughing off his anxiety as the officer drove off. I was sure Harold was being facetious when he said the US Uncut movement kept him from going to jail. I couldnt help but scoff. He asked me if I was actually friends with the white dude who was driving the car, Harold explained. I told him, Yeah, thats my dude Carl, we startin a movement against corporate tax dodgers and unnecessary budget cuts.