These streets are on fire with the pavers’s rampage strike: a cement truck cracked in the rear and full of black-top is dousing the streets with tar. Up and down the one-ways, this truck drives, sludging out gallons of flammable thick liquid, the strikers just a bit ahead of the tires tossing molotov’s by the dozen upon the flammable pavement, drinking from the bottles before their windups. The block is hot. Nobody is home. If they are, it’s aflame. Corruption of Law & Order is amongst us. There ain’t nobody left but people in this city. And the only remaining government lines a 40-mile radius, standing with shields on walls and fortifications, wielding turrets; police still keep violence their #1 priority. In here, only Night Court displays the final judgement. Seven figureheads, all in on the scheme. Professional moves within a lawless society. Crime as a commodity. Respect by way of survival. The Night Court is in session.
Not only does Night Court reside beneath, in the gut of this underbellied city, but it festers throughout the society, weaving within the same confines of complete innocence. Most of their Law & Order is created through a synthetic-type leadership directing keynote influences within the background, swarming citizens of this arena with a hustle that demands bustle. Plugging into a crescendo of four or five rhythmic politicizing, Night Court bases their atmosphere on instilling peaks of fear into the purveyor, threatening collaborative take-down and ultimate lottery. The decoy is merely plucking strings in the forefronts, leading gangs to the front lines, trying to get one more mile on that radius. Wildcard vibrations ring out and match the foundation (built merely on four strings), tangoing with a fury of spark-plug and melted moments. Night Court’s street-team radios scattered about and left on, haunting the city with sound. The rogue playing a sax about the burnt streets for money, but is really spying on the rich. Law & Order’s intricacy and seriousness about the society they’ve built is both proven in the surrounding atmosphere and potentially changing the air one breathes in.
Thus, the only soundtrack one hears during Night Court is the vagueness of Law & Order. The meaning is intentionally lost at the heart of them desolate streets of sin. Who’s controlling who? Is this all premeditated? Did they practice a good and evil? Gripping peoples’s minds on a general, but wielding a niche demographic; fans of PBS/NBC retro-prime-time television will be enthralled with the street’s sonata. Providing anarchy through the isolation of targeting nostalgia/memory opposed to an already fabricated one, Law & Order stirs an environmentally green campaign, but in a neon, toxic color. This ain’t no Ukraine or Thailand, motherfucker. Mayhem is storming down upon capital America right now, and guess who’s there to back it up: The scum and the twisted. The moms and the rich children left behind. The hearty and the holy. Night Court is no mafia or organized crime unit, but a group presenting justice in the name of human civility. They’re giving people a chance that no government can provide: free-reign Law & Order. Propaganda on every street corner either in the form of a syringe, shotgun, shoes, or salvation — it’s all the same at this point. Night Court is the driver. Take the ride.
There is no script in Law & Order. Night Court maintains their appearance through the non-visual. Faceless entities always possess more power through fear, though it’s fear of the mystique. There’s nothing offensive in just remaining a bit hidden. The insinuation is always worth a peak. But break it down, right-quick: Can you imagine “Indictment” from a place like this? Manic pressure to just be done with it all, but they just can’t let you go. They’re watching all of us, always. A “Prison Fight” that ends in group showers without soap, just vapor emitting from the faucets, residuing moisture on the ceiling tile ready for raining drips. That “Interview” you thought you saw last night, but was just a commercial on a sideways pawn shop TV in a broken window, still flickering the news at night. “Hector’s Crew” gripping more loot for the big trash-parade later that night. There’s a nightmare within all of us, whether it’s walking in and Grams has a knife to her throat or witnessing someone wick flame and melt into the metal of a sedan or waiting up to the minute your building begins to crumble itself to ground zero. Night Court is for the merciless and their title, Law & Order, is merely so you think the cogs of justice are spinning.
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