The hulk of a rusted automobile sat on its axles under a dead tree. John sat in the driver’s seat on a sunny afternoon. He was eating a moldy peanut butter sandwich and washing it down with warm milk from a carton some kid had thrown away on his way home from school the day before. He was leering at the girls playing tennis on the school's courts across the street.

He wasn’t supposed to be within 1000 feet of the place. 

A police cruiser with its lights flashing stopped in the street in front of John. Two officers got out and approached him, the shorter one with his nightstick drawn.

“Let’s go, John,” the taller of them said, reaching for his handcuffs. “What'd the judge tell you in court last time? You remember?" 

"Somethin' 'bout a thousand feet, you mean?"

"Yeah, John."

The door squealed as John open it and got out of the junk car. The short cop slid his nightstick into its speed ring as the tall one cuffed him and stuffed him into the back seat of the cruiser.

As they drove away, all three watched as a young lady picked up a stray ball.

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rust, trees, milk