“Weeee ooooo weeee oooo weee ooooo!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Winston murmured.

“Weeee oooo weeee oooo weeee oooo!” the officer continued as he trotted down the sidewalk towards him, “pull over mister!”

“I heard you,” he cried, and stepped out of the flow of foot traffic and waited for his the officer to meet him.

“Awful, astonishingly atrocious, absolutely abhorrent!” The officer cried, skipping up in his designer pants and form fitting leather jacket. “Just what do you think you’re wearing, silly?”

Winston looked down at his watch, and then down at his clothes. He didn’t see anything wrong.

“Look I’m late for work, I didn’t have time to do laundry maybe everything doesn’t match. sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am,” the officer lisped, “look at you, brown shoes and a black belt?! Are you kidding me? That’s, like, fashion 101.”

“I know.”

“No seriously,” the officer said playfully, “you should have learned about that in fashion 101, or did you skip your mandatory courses?”

Winston let his shoulders sag and looked up into the sky, “I may have missed a class or two,” he sighed.

“Oh jeez,” the officer gasped, “this is like, SUPES cereal, ya know?”

Winston looked back down at his watch again, beginning to be impatient with this pull over.

The officer jumped up and gasped, covering his mouth with both of his hands, “is that a digital watch?! Those are illegal for anyone over the age of thirteen, you know that right?!”

Winston covered his eyes, rubbing his temples, he tried to be patient.

“I have grounds to arrest you right here and now!” the officer cried, flipping his hand limply forward, “if it weren’t for your dapper-dan hair I’d slap some cuffs on those law breaking wrists and take you to fashion reeducation!”

Winston’s demeanor changed significantly, “I don’t think you have the authority to pull that off…” he said, though not believing his own words.

The officer looked hurt by the accusation, then pointed at his badge, “Fashion Police Commissioner, Duh!”

Winston’s eyes met the officer’s finger and grew pale; he no longer felt flippant or unapologetic towards the fashion-peace keeper. “I’m sorry,” he urged the man, “it was on an honest mistake, it wont happen again. I’ll go home and read the fashionista bible tonight, cover to cover and I’ll match my clothing, I promise.” He held his hands and knelt before the officer, “please don’t send me to reeducation.”

The officer looked on him with scrutiny, hands were placed heavily on his tilted hips, “hmmmmmmm,” he said through squinted eyes, “I’ll let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you!” Winston cried, clutching the shirt of the officer, “thank you, it won’t happen again!”

“Well I should hope not! I don’t want to talk to you again,” he said, waving his finger.

Something caught his eye behind Winston, “hey! You Sillypants!” the officer cried across the street pointing at a woman, “Don’t you know you can’t wear white after labor day?!”

With his accusation he held up a flashing light and trotted across the busy intersection, “weeee oooo weeee ooooo weee oooo!”