Summer afternoon.
Dust.
Lust.
Lines of orange dwarf trees, perfectly pruned.
Red electric fruit-picking carts with white roofs. One swerves violently into view, agitating a brown cloud. Two cops, looking retro and somewhat comedic--except in their own eyes--, don aviators accompanied by ironically misaligned mustaches. They spill out of the cart: one cop good, the other bad. The latter chases after a fieldworker in a wife-beater, knocks him over the ground, and threatens to cut the man's throat open. His cholera is assuaged only by his partner's constant plea to not murder an innocent civilian. The cop and the wrongfully accused glare at one another in disgust...
They are looking for my ex-lover who is on a mission of ire to slice me. The bad cop must really dislike woman-murdering men.
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