Court was 11 am. Lasted 12 minutes. This photo was taken right before 2 pm. This was the cop who wrote the first ticket. Only ticket so far. His patrol car was double parked halfway up the street. Red and blues flashing. He went door-to-door with a clipboard in the mini-projects over there.
I wonder if the visit has anything to do with the combo of words I used with the judge: “World War 2 … Gypsies … Night of the Shattering Glass”. I also thought that I made a good legal point when the judge tried to tell me the lawsuit I have is with the City, not the neighbors. I came right back with “That’s not true, your honour, when they stand across the street and yell on the phone about me to the police, and then the police come. That’s the City in it.”
I feel like that’s an obvious point to anyone, then I realize that it’s not, which is why I am on a hunger strike. They really don’t care if I die. They don’t give a damn if all of us die.
That’s where they are making a fundamental mistake. I am prepared to die for the right to live in safety in my own home, even if that home is on wheels. And I am going to write about them while I die. My last book.