Morning, sunshine. Hope you’re sitting down and sipping your morning Joe, cause’ this one will wake you up faster than a Red Bull enema. Welcome to Broadway Avenue at a bright and early 9:18 a.m., prime time for a classy kerfuffle between two dames. And what were these sisterly sirens scrapping about? None other than the long-disgraced art of parenting, my friends.
A concerned John Doe decides he’s had enough of the bitch fest. Fearing for the child’s welfare amidst the waltz of words, he calls up our boys in blue. Because, ya know, they’ve got nothing better to do than break up a verbal volleyball match.
Our heroes promptly arrive and find – drum roll, please – a mother desperately trying to prevent her beloved offspring from waltzing right into oncoming traffic. We’ve got no drugs, no weapons, no crazy ex-lovers hiding in the trunk; just a caring mom and a kid who apparently thinks they’re starring in a live-action Frogger game.
The verdict: no harm, no foul, apart from a cackling hen-peck over the barista screwing up an order, from what I gather. Just another day on Broadway Ave. A standing ovation for our finest whose only combat was against aggravated communication.
Stay tuned for more of your cherished Chaos on Broadway.
