A worthless process takes place in the fluorescent death trap of Tableview police station. My tools (laptop, tripod, flash and more) were swiped by the opportunist. The opportunist smells these tools from below their crystalized chemical nostrils and then creep toward the target with marksmen precision. I do not blame the opportunist. The opportunist is merely a product and acts accordingly to the process in which they are sweating circles in. Opportunist, now that you have dipped your decision making into the well of ‘a beggar on a bitches leash’, you will chase emptiness forever. I will hover above you while you quiver in the process of your next hit. I am working hard with good intentions for no payback while you do what is needed, but as long as my body remains intact and my mind obtains the facts – you can take my tools. My nine eight seven triple six five fourked tongue slapping on your every footstep is how we end this thought, opportunist.