Another day ends, the supposed strike I managed to abort, and now it's time to return to my neighborhood. I will now strip off my police skin like a snake, put it on a wire hanger, and hide it in the commando's closet.

I am going to pass on to the evening colleague the file of two strikers that I handcuffed on the Avenue of Angola when they were burning two tires. What doesn't Angola do for us? We listen to Angolan music, we covet the success of Angolans, we decree five days of mourning for the death of the former Angolan president, and even the supposed strike gave signs on the Avenue of Angola. Deep down, our dream is also Angolan.

There are no plates to get to the house, but I will hang onto a "my love", handcuff myself to a sitting passenger's shoulder so I don't fall off and never lose my balance. At least I still have "my love" to drop me off in the neighborhood. I think the last hatters' strike was important.

In the neighborhood, without my uniform, I will complain about the cost of living, the fuel, the price of the chapa, the price of the kilo of sugar, the price of the oil that is always slipping, because I am also a citizen. Tomorrow, on the corner of Eduardo Mondlane, I will hunt down foreigners and demand DIRE from them, I will pull out coins in the name of BI, and there, in Belita, I will pull over the junkies that auction parts in the Estrela Market. It's the only way to fatten the crumbs that I earn as a salary, understand this...

Don't come to me with theories of honesty here, my dears. Life is hard. Do you know how much I had to pay to join the police? Do you know how much I had to pay not to be affected outside the city? Do you know the price I will one day pay for renting my gun to the kids who do damage in the neighborhoods? Do you know how many chapas I had to pay to be the first one on the street before those strikers and vandals?

I aborted the supposed strike, but I did not interrupt the endless gestation of prices. Sure, sometimes I feel like firing my rubber bullets and tear gas at those who boss me around, but I don't do all that for law and order.

You may not know it, but I have been on strike for years against this government. I never get rank and file and I never move up in rank. I'm always forced to pull over the people I belong to, but when it comes to kidnappings, my boss is clear: "stay out of it, that's the big boys' stuff. Go pull the people over."

Another day ends, the supposed strike I managed to abort, but I won't be able to abort my wife's question when I get home, "love, are the people right or wrong. Isn't life expensive?".