I took money as a copper. Small things at first ' ignoring a drink driver, losing paperwork, turning a blind eye in exchange for envelopes passed under caf' tables. It felt invisible. Then it stopped being small. Evidence vanished. People got hurt who shouldn't have. I kept my pension clean and my hands filthy. I told myself I was surviving the system. The truth is I became it. Now I'm old, sober, and carrying names I'll never be able to give back their lives. I go to the families' streets and I park at the corner like a ghost. I never knock. I never speak. I just sit and remember who I helped destroy. Redemption, I've learned, doesn't come with forgiveness attached.