she misses the blue shifts, the short changeovers, the boring hours standing around in a hallway waiting for court. she misses the hot lunches she was so good at sneaking in under the sergeant’s nose; she misses coffees when the dispatcher couldn’t raise her. she misses the hotshots, the car chases, the chaos, the screaming, the begging, the near misses before it all came together. she misses the sudden deaths, the occasional robbery; she misses all those who stared into the darkness and she couldn’t talk out of jumping in after it. and today, over herbal tea, she confesses she misses the gossip and the delicious blue back-biting of it all.
—from Rattle #37, Summer 2012
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