[ WP ] A man loses a fight with a lamppost .

`` You fucking... I did n't even say... what were you walking,'' and he throws another stumbling madman jab. 
 
 
 Midnight, affluent crosswalk, and the police look on. 
 
 
 `` I'm getting sick of taking this guy home.'' 
 
 `` Have a little empathy, rook. Not like you're doing it for free.'' 
 
 `` Bullshit. And so help me, if I have to hear his ol' lady's crying again... so help me.'' 
 
 `` Just let him wear himself down.'' 
 
 `` And how long's that supposed to take?'' 
 
 `` Relax, stretch your legs. We'll drop him on the porch.'' 
 
 `` Why not the tank?'' 
 
 `` Made his father a promise, you know that, rook.'' 
 
 `` What promise?'' 
 
 `` You ca n't know everything. But you're right.'' 
 
 `` About what?'' 
 
 `` His wife's the worst.'' 
 
 `` Completely.'' The rookie squinted, watching the drunk. `` Is he... is he trying a... is that a half nelson?'' 
 
 `` I do n't know what to call that. I'm not sure it has a name.'' 
 
 
 The drunk screamed POWERBOMB, the lampost slippery in his grip, arched his back, and fell back hard on the night's cold cement. 
 
 
 `` C'mon rook, let's end this.'' 
 
 `` I'm still amazed the bars serve him.'' 
 
 
 Getting him in the cruiser was no problem, but the officers were n't pursuasive enough to keep him from pissing his pants. 
 
 
 `` You better fucking believe that you're cleaning that piss up,'' shouted the rookie. 
 
 `` Hey chief,'' said his partner, looking back from the wheel at the drunkard, `` everything okay with you?'' 
 
 `` Sonuvabish came come down an, an...'' A hiccup. 
 
 `` His wife's going to have him thrown in jail. Hopefully. This time.'' Said the rookie. 
 
 `` She ca n't.'' 
 
 `` He was fighting a fixture for fucks sakes.'' 
 
 `` Yeah.'' 
 
 `` A goddamn lampost.'' 
 
 The drunk sat swaying in the back, hiccuping and burping, falling over the car's turns. 
 
 `` We're gon na get you home, chief. `` 
 
 `` What do you like this guy so much for?'' Hissed the rookie. 
 
 `` I do n't.'' 
 
 
 The drunk's house is a small ranch, a suburban node, small and dark and unmowed. Pulling up, the drunk whimpered. The officers sat silent in the stopped cruiser. 
 
 
 `` Take him to his wife, rook.'' 
 
 `` Jesus, okay.'' 
 
 
 The rookie pulled the man out of the back, told him to calm down as he stumbled out of the vehicle, as he fell sobbing on the lawn, as he said then screamed No at the rookie cop. 
 
 `` Give me a fucking break, let's go.'' 
 
 
 The rookie carried him to the door by his sagging elbow and knocked on the door. No sounds from the house. No lights came on. 
 
 
 Fifteen minutes the rookie's partner spent listening to the knocking, watching no lights turn on, listening the the drunk's sobbing, his mumbled pleading. Fifteen minutes spectating from the heat of the cruiser. Fifteen minutes for the rookie to understand that no one was going to answer the door. 

