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The second most common question I get is, “Do you need a
permit?” In In Seeing how I played in I played dumb and got away with
warnings. Soon though, tickets started piling up. $25 for using an amp, $50
for selling CDs. Not every cop enforced the law, so I took my chances. If and
when I got hit, I eventually paid them as if it were dues. For a while things seemed manageable.
That is until I had the pleasure of meeting officer Duran. He was the head transit
undercover cop. Now retired, he was a zealous, “by the book” cop. He was
notorious amongst buskers as the guy you don’t want to mess with. The first
time he caught me, he threatened to arrest me. I was stressed. His presence
was very intimidating. Fearing the unknown, I lost sleep at night. To make a long story short, he busted
me. He was so over the top, frisking me and all, his partner apologized as
they were cuffing me away. I was processed, then sent to the “tombs” on |
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In some ways I feel I could write a
book about my experiences in jail. Having survived the ordeal and everything
that lead to it, I’ve become a little more comfortable in my skin. Suffice to
say, I learned a lot about myself, a lot about human nature, the system, and
how to smuggle cigarettes. The second time he arrested me, I
strutted back to my cell and waited patiently. Had I pleaded guilty, my record would
have been cleared in six months. Instead I went to criminal court for a year
and a half, and sat through countless hours waiting for my nemesis to show
up. This long drawn out process was engineered to bore me into submission.
The system didn’t expect me to hold out that long. As a result, they dismissed my case. On the advice of my
lawyer, I could have conceivably sued. I just wanted to play in peace. By now most cops have gotten to know
me. When we see each other underground, we smile and nod. *Upon
printing of this CD, a battle ensued over harsh legislation that was to be
enacted December 2003, seriously compromising
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