Brian Cook's Blog

The horse shifted its hooves impatiently on the warm asphalt of Whitehead Street. It wanted to go. Rudy wanted it to go, too. He was stuck here, crouched behind the tall root system of the kapok tree in front of the courthouse on Whitehead Street, listening to the officer on the horse’s back talk into his radio. Someone had called the police. Pulling out your cock at the Southernmost Point had that effect on people. The dispatcher had gotten on it quickly.

“This guy really took a whizz at the Southernmost Point?” the mounted cop asked. “Just whipped it out?”

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