To Sire, With Love (Part II)

She laid the shit and piss stained sheets over the moldy mattress. She was as plain as the prairies of Kansas. The words failed to come when she asked me if I needed anything else.

“A bourbon if you got it,” I said to her.

“There’s no drinking on the premises, Mr. Watkins,” she replied.

“Please, can you call me Donny?”

“Donny, pleased to meet you. I’m Sam.”

“Short for Samantha?”

“Just Sam. My parents abandoned me at the hospital so I’m named after the doctor who delivered me.”

Sam…a name that forever be etched onto my heart. “What’s your last name?” I asked.

“Malone. Sadly.” Sam then handed me the last bit of toiletries. “Breakfast starts at 6am,” she continued. “Please get some rest, Donny. I promise you that things will get better from here.”

“Will you still be here in the morning?” I ask.

“My shift ends at 7. So please wake up early. I hope to see you there.”

I nodded. “I promise I’ll be up.”

Sam gave a slight smile and departed the room. I didn’t bother stripping off my ratty ass clothes before I climbed into bed. I laid there for awhile thinking of Sam’s smile and soft voice before I dozed off. My roommate ripped a loud fart and I was fast asleep.

It was around 5 am when my roommate awoke. He was humming the words to some godawful song. “Lick it up! Lick it up! Ahhhhaaaahhhahhhh!” he shouted.

“Hey buddy, do you mind?!” I yelled.

“Yeah I do mind!” he replied as he was putting on his shit-covered boots. “It’s a new day. My dick still gets hard. And I got $12 in my pocket!”

“I have bad news for you,” I said, “you’re at the Salvation Army. That means your life is in the ditch! And Kiss sucks ass!”

“YOUR life may be in the ditch. But in three days I’ll be out of this shithole and in New Orleans.”

“New Orleans is a shithole too.”

“Cheer up, good buddy,” he said as he completed tying his boots. “Do you smell that? That’s the coffee brewing.” Then he farted. “And that’s the smell of the last vestiges of yesterday’s chili dog. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

The smelly roommate stood up, ran a comb through his hair, and took a piss. As he was about to exit, he told me one last thing.

“I’ve got a history lesson for you: Did you know that Bill Clinton’s father drowned in a ditch in Missouri?” he asked. “I can’t think of a worse way to go.”

TO BE CONTINUED…