this sounds like a lie...but it's 911

tonight anna and i found a scaffolding...it was past midnight.
(the place was in front of a Brooklyn ambulance center)
i decided to climb. it went 4 floors up and wrapped around.
rickety ladders and crickety planks.
on my way down, anna lagged behind, trying to catch a view.
as i reached the first-floor ladder, i saw a man creep out a window
i'd just passed. he stepped onto the planks i had just tread.
he must have been watching us.
i panicked and hid around the side of the building.
still 12 feet up, i hugged the bricks and caught my breath.
as i peered around the corner, i saw him climbing back into
the window of the (totally gutted) building.
fuckin anna was unaware, 2 floors above me.
i climbed down the bottom ladder and ran to the edge of the scaffolding---
i wanted to yell up to her, but an ambulance pulled into the station
and all these ambulance bros crowded around and cheered.
something dramatic and heroic had just occurred,
but we had a major creep-fest on our hands.
i waited for the bros to close the ambulance garage doors,
then i yelled up at the roof: "anna! anna! anna! 911! 911!"
(ironic, the date. Ground Zero is currently projecting a twin spotlight straight at the moon. 9/11)
i waited, but heard nothing.
my thighs started shaking, then my hands, then something in my chest--my lungs?
really? is this.....really? "anna!"
i scurried under the scaffolding, around the other side of the building:
"anna! anna! the fuck!"
scuffling.
dust fell in my upturned eyes, pooled water fell from somewhere.
hurried footsteps above my head and over toward the first-floor ladder.
"cat? cat? cat?"
jeebus god, bitch, what the FUCK happened?
"he came out of nowhere. tried to molest me. i clocked him and climbed down---
he stood over me, so i grabbed the planks and shook them as hard as i could."
we're walking down the block, hands clasped and trembling together.
suddenly, HE walks out of a door underneath the scaffolding.
there he fucking is. with a shoulder bag and a high-waisted, short-torsoed gait.
he looks over his shoulder and skips (seriously).
"is that fucking him?"
"....that's fucking him---"
and she chases him into the street.
"YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE," i shout as she punches him in the head.
he reeles and speed-walks down the avenue.
anna rejoins me and we bee-line for the bar.
"shots, please, and don't stop the flow."
thank goodness that douche wasn't packing.
that's a september 11th courtesy for ya.