Anaideia 48

Randy didn’t know what to make of Susan. He sipped the scotch mere feet from her face with her eyes bowed to the floor. I turned my head to see a tear stream down her face. Though this was the moment she had been waiting for, nothing had prepared her for it. “I don’t think I know you,” Randy said.

Susan palmed her eyes and lifted her head to face him. When I looked at Randy, I could tell he was genuinely perplexed. “Where is my mother?” Susan managed to squeak out.

Randy squinted his eyes and took another sip. He lowered the glass and placed it in his left hand. “Darling,” he said, putting his right hand to her cheek, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand your question.”

“Where is MY mother,” she repeated.

“If you could tell me who you are, perhaps I could help,” he said, taken back by her sudden forcefulness.

“Susan.”

“Susan who?”

“Susan Brucetti.”

He took his hand off her face and had another sip. “Brucetti?” he asked and swallowed hard. “I believe a Lyonette Brucetti was under my employment many years ago. Is that your mother?”

Susan nodded and lowered her head again. Randy’s face began to blush and he nervously scratched his head. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen Lyonette in some time,” he explained. “Last I heard, she was living in Chico with her husband. I apologize, but I haven’t been keeping close tabs on her.”

“You’re a liar,” Susan said.

“Pardon?”

“You’re a liar. You sold her into sex slavery.”

“W-why would I do that?”

“Because that’s the kind of man you are!”

“Susan, sweetheart, I think you have the wrong idea. You see, Lyonette and I were lovers for a very long time. I loved her. Why would I sell someone I love into slavery?”

“Then why would she abandon me?!”

Randy turned around and refused to face us. He sat his glass of scotch down and rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry Susan,” he said, “had I of known, I would have done something.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a child together. A girl.”

Susan looked at me with wide eyes. No words came. In real time I could see her heart sink to her feet and Dale shook his head. “Told you it was a mistake,” he uttered under his breath.

“Goddamnit Dale,” I said.

“What was a mistake?” asked Randy, still not facing us.

“Forget it,” I said.

“I’m gonna be sick,” said Susan.

Randy picked up the glass again and ignored the comment entirely. He turned around and leaned against the table. “Susan, my dear, I think you should leave,” he said. “I don’t want you to be a part of what’s about to happen.”

Susan quietly nodded and the driver took her by the arm and escorted her upstairs. She never looked back at me. She was defeated.

When she was gone and the shock wore off, I looked at Randy. “Two damaged children,” I said. “That’s your real legacy.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 47

It was a shame that we arrived in Tahoe after nightfall. The mountain vistas and alpine would have been a glorious sight to see before death. But the limousine descended into obscure wavy backroads before arriving at Randy’s rocky sprawl and the driver exited the vehicle with a Ruger ready. “Welcome to the Furie estate,” he said after opening the backseat door. “Please step out of the vehicle or be shot.”

We complied with his demand and stood in a row in the late night mountain air and the driver waved us in through the immaculate entrance. Inside the mansion, the walls were adorned with bear skins and moose heads with a few human skulls for added effect. But before I could take it all in we were pushed through the house and down the stairs into a padded and soundproofed basement where on the other end Randy was yelling racial slurs through a microphone while playing Baldur’s Gate. We stood on one end of the basement while the driver shuffled to the other end to inform Mr. Furie.

“Your guests sir,” the driver said.

Randy swiveled around in his chair and when he laid eyes upon us he smiled. “Welcome! Welcome!” he greeted.

“Randy, if this is supposed to scare me then you’re doing a shitty job,” I said.

“Scare you? Why would I try to scare you?” he asked.

He stood up and flattened out his maroon smoking jacket and the Madam stepped through a hidden door disguised as a book case and handed him a glass of scotch. He took the glass then sniffed and swirled it. “The real reason I asked you here is to beg for your forgiveness,” he informed us.

“Why should I forgive you?” I said.

Randy squinted to bear through what seemed to be his internal torment. “Oh why can’t you see the burden placed upon my shoulders?” he posed. “The whole world pleads for forbidden contraband and services and those screams fall into my ears like cries in the night.”

“I can’t imagine the pain you must be in,” I said sarcastically.

“No man can imagine it,” he said, not picking up on my sarcasm. “I come from a long line of service providers; an ancient lineage we are.”

“No doubt,” I said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I’ve always desired you to be a part of this proud tradition,” he said with a tinge of mournfulness. “There’s no greater honor than a son following his father’s footsteps.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I replied.

Randy stepped a little closer with scotch in hand to look us up and down. He could tell something was amiss. “Where’s the fellow among you who destroyed my desert fortress?” he asked.

“He died in the wilderness weeks after,” I told him.

“A tragedy for you no doubt. But a fitting end for a warrior.”

“He got what was coming to him.”

“A fate that we all must face.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 44

“So you fucked Susan?” Dale asked me over breakfast.

“We didn’t fuck,” I informed him. “We made love. Don’t be so fucking crude, Dale.”

“Well how was it?”

“A gentleman never tells. That’s something you wouldn’t know about.”

We sipped on our mimosas and Bloody Mary’s over a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon and steaks and all the greasy foods to cure a hangover. Susan was still in bed while Dale and I maintained our company in the kitchen. I was on maybe my fifth Bloody Mary when there was a knock on the door.

“For Christ sake!” I shouted. “Why do we keep getting visitors?!”

So I go back down the foyer to answer the door. It was the hotel manager with a smug look on his face. He was alone this time without his gaggle of minions. “Not so tough now huh? Asshole,” I said to him.

“I have a message here from one Randall J. Furie,” the manager said. I took the paper from his hand and opened it up.

“Dear James,” the message read, “sorry for kidnapping you and keeping you prisoner. I’m also sorry for killing those Chechen and Chinese guys in front of you in Norco. Please forgive me. Love, Randy.”

I look up from the paper and back at the manager. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” I ask him.

“Mr. Furie is willing to send you a limousine to escort you to his home in Tahoe,” the manager said.

I crumble up the paper and throw it in his face. “You tell Randy to come HERE and apologize!” I say.

“I do not wish to have a bloodbath in my hotel sir.”

“Well there’s about to be a bloodbath if you don’t get your ass back on the elevator and tell Randy my demands! You hear?!”

“Very well sir,” the manager said. Then he bowed and returned to the elevator.

“That’s right! Run away you pussy ass bitch!” I shout.

I close the door and go back to the kitchen where Dale was spinning the chamber of his revolver. “Who was that?” he asked.

“That bitch ass manager,” I say.

Susan storms out of the bedroom in her robe and glared at us. “It’s 11:30 in the morning!” she cried. “Can you guys keep it down out here?!”

I avert my eyes away from hers. “My apologies,” I said. “We’ll be quieter next time.”

Susan tied up her robe and adjusted her mood. “Good morning, James,” she said.

“Good morning,” I said, still not making eye contact.

“Are you two enjoying your breakfast,” she stammered.

“Yes.”

Susan stood up straight and took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I should get ready for the day,” she said.

I gently nod.

Susan goes back into the bedroom and closes the door. Dale puts down his revolver and looks at me. “That was awkward,” he said.

“Do you think it was a mistake?” I ask him.

“To fuck her?”

“To make love goddamnit!”

“Well I don’t know much about women or much of anything really. But yes. It was a mistake.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 43

I sat at the end of the foyer and pounded the tequila bottle and I waited for our inevitable visitor. It was late. Dale and Susan were fast asleep and tucked away in their bedrooms while I was alone with only my thoughts and Walther PPQ to protect me. I added the silencer to the gun so as to not wake them up.

I was nearing the point of blackout when the knob twisted. I raised the Walther and waited for the intruder. I heard heels clanking onto the marble floor and from behind the door appeared the Madam in a form fitting red gown. She stopped momentarily to stare down the barrel. “I knew you’d come,” I said as I slurred out my words.

“I’m only here to deliver a message,” she said.

“You’re dressed awfully well to just deliver a message.”

“This? I just left a Hoobastank concert. Anyway, I’m here to tell you that Randy isn’t mad at you for burning down his brothel. In fact, he wants to visit him at his villa in Tahoe.”

I took another shot of tequila. “Tahoe eh?” I said. “Now I know where to find him.”

“You and I both know that he’s a dangerous man. You’ll never get to him.”

“Yet I was the one that torched his empire in the desert.”

“He wants bygones to be bygones. You’re his only son. He wants someone to leave his legacy to.”

“He should have thought of that before making me his prisoner for two months.”

The madam nodded. “So why did you come to Reno?” she asked.

“You know why.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I would if I had bullets in this gun.”

“Well, Randy’s invitation stands. If you wish to see him, I believe you know how to contact me.”

She glanced at me one last time. “He’s waiting on you,” she said and then closed the door behind her. I took another swig of tequila. Susan appeared from behind her bedroom door in a robe and slippers. “Who was that?” she asked.

“The Madam,” I said.

“You mean to tell me that we robbed a robbed a UPS store and stranded a naked guy in the middle of the desert for nothing?”

“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” I said. “It got her attention. And besides, I had a pretty good time.”

Susan pulled up a chair and sat beside me then rested her hand on my shoulder. “Mind if I have a drink?” she asked. I handed her the bottle and she drank. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Randy’s in Tahoe,” I said. “I reckon we ought to stock up and ambush him.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea goddamnit. But that’s the only idea I’ve got.”

“Does she have your friend?”

“Which one?”

“Old Jim.”

“Shit. I forgot to ask.”

Susan took one last swig and sat the bottle down. “Come on,” she said, “we need to get some sleep.” She stood up and I grabbed her by the hand.

“You’re the only one who understands what I’m going through,” I said to her.

“You’re drunk,” she said.

“Of course I’m drunk. I’m always drunk.”

“Go to bed and we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“But you’re sleeping in my bed,” I said then gently kissed her hand.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 27

Around 5pm we packed our shit and exited the hotel room and I threw the room key onto the receptionist’s desk and apologized. “Sorry for destroying the room,” I said. “You should really clean up this shit hole.”

“Get the fuck out,” he ordered.

This was the last man we spoke to for several days. We left the one horse town and trekked back up the mountain slope and towards the pass as the sun fell below the horizon. We passed the Bacardi bottle between us before realizing it wouldn’t last till midnight and we finished drinking it anyway. An hour later we came across the creek where we last encountered Penelope and filled our canteens. Vic wondered along the shoreside looking for her footprints and when he found where he was attacked, he followed her path over a ridge away from the pass. “This way!” he declared. So we went over the ridge and deeper into the mountains before finding a comfortable spot to camp. When we found one, Dale pissed around the perimeter while Vic made a fire.

“Dale, what the fuck are you doing?” I ask.

“Supposedly snakes and scorpions won’t cross over human piss,” he explained.

We all took turns standing watch throughout the night but the mountains were eerily silent. The next morning we packed up and penetrated deeper into the rocky terrain. Our elevation was steadily climbing and the air was harder to breathe. We gnawed on jerky throughout the day which caused massive dehydration yet Vic was pushing forward at breakneck speed.

“We ate all the goddamn jerky!” Dale yelled and threw down the non-biodegradable bag on the ground.

Vic noticed a ridge line of trees and ran ahead of us. We heard a gunshot echo from the that direction and minutes later we saw him peer out of the woods with a coyote carcass. “Here’s some sustenance,” he said and dropped the body.

That night we feasted on coyote meat and in the morning we continued the march. The dry dirt and sun baked rocks eventually gave way to pine needles and evergreens and the air grew crisp and clean. We didn’t know how deep into the mountains we were and only Vic provided any sense of direction. Though I had assumed Old Jim would have tired by then but he seemed reinvigorated. I on the other hand became weary of the purpose of our pursuit. When we came to a bluff overlooking yet another deep valley, I had had enough.

“Are you sure we’re on the right path?” I asked Vic.

“Goddamn you! Of course I’m sure!” he spat back.

Perhaps we should have followed the doctor’s advice and taken Vic to a real hospital. His quest for vengeance was overpowering any good sense left in his mangled brain. We had escaped certain death only days earlier but like a desperate gambler we kept going all in. But finally the gamble paid off. As the alpine winds swept through the valley and threatened to chill us, Vic noticed a yellowish speckle on the ground. He knelt down to rub his finger across it then placed his finger to his lips and licked it.

“It’s her alright,” he said.

The sky darkened and the winds picked up and we sought shelter in the nearby woods. While the rest of the group set up camp, I ventured a little deeper into the wood on a whim. About 50 feet away from camp, sitting alone on a small meadow on top of dead pine was a brown open crowned cowboy hat similar to that of the late Karl’s. To my chagrin I realized that Vic was right: we were on the right path.

I picked up the hat and carried back to camp where the others were roasting the meats of rabbit and vermin captured earlier in the day. I squated down and tossed the hat in the middle for all to see. “Damnit Vic,” I uttered, “you’re right. I don’t know how but you’re right.”

Vic chewed off a hunk of rabbit meat impaled on a stick and spat out the fat. “Aye mate,” he said. “I told ya before that I’ve seen the devil. She’s the foulest and most evil thing in these hills. The devil can run but she can’t hide because I know her face. I know her name. I know what she thinks. And I know where she sleeps. It makes you wonder why she’s called the devil. Maybe I’m the terror that stalks these mountains.”

As nightfall came and the fire died, I covered myself in the stolen nylon blanket and held my Uzi tight. I could barely sleep a wink as I kept one eye on Vic. Five days we had been looking. I chose to give it one more day. It was a morning of blistering cold and I awoke from a flash of sleep to see Vic standing over me.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Good morning?” I said.

“I have something I want to show you.”

While the others slept and a glimpse of morning skies hovered above, we marched a mile or two into a crowded wooded valley. By yet another creek bed, Vic kicked away a few stones and pointed to a pile of brown excrement. “Do you know what that is?” he asks.

“It’s a pile of shit,” I said.

“Aye. It hasn’t hardened.”

“So?”

“So, it means we’re close.”

“You think it’s Penelope’s shit?”

“No. In these parts, no other creatures could shit a log that big.”

Indeed, I agreed. The turd was at least a foot long and many inches thick. Vic stood watch while I retrieved the others and packed up camp. We caught up with him and ventured deeper into the mountains and as dusk approached we noticed a small plume of smoke rising from a camp fire above the tree line. Then we climbed higher to get a better look.

“We need to keep moving along the ridge to avoid these guys,” said Vic.

I disagreed. “We’re dangerously low on supplies,” I said. “We need to see if we can trade with these folks.”

“No!” he shouted.

“Vic, I don’t want to die out here!”

“My taint itches and I haven’t slept well in three days!” Dale said. “I need more booze.”

Vic balked and the group threatened to break up. Old Jim became the deciding factor so I asked him plainly, “do you want to approach the campfire?”

With the air of a wise old sage, Jim gazed towards the sky. “What campfire?” he asked.

“How are your eyes?” I ask him.

Jim again pulled out the Browning and twirled it around his finger. “Boys, I can still shoot the pecker off…”

“Alright!” Vic relented. “We’ll go towards the campfire! But be on high alert!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Back to basics part 5

As usual I strolled into work five hours late and headed straight for the bathroom. I went into the one empty stall and dropped my pants to unload an ungodly duce which was the result of drinking two six packs and eating multiple cans of Vienna sausages the night before. But as I was desperately trying to squeeze the turd from my ass I could hear pathetic whimpering from the stall next to me.

I pounded on the wall. “Hey buddy! Can you keep it down over there?!” I shout.

The crying intensified.

Through the boo-hooing and unbearable cramping of my intestines I focus on unleashing the brown beast desperately trying to escape my body. But the man next to me only howled. And as he howled so too did the wretched stench blasting out of my butthole. Finally I had enough. I unfurl half a role of toilet paper to wipe my ass and there was nothing on it. Not a speckle of shit. My stomach was a raging and boiling mess. Though the attempt to free the monstrous brown bear creeping through my body had failed I knew that someway and somehow it would find a way out. But that moment wasn’t now. So I pull up my pants and flush the toilet filled with tissue as clean as unadulterated snow and depart the toilet knowing full well that this piece of porcelain will eventually face the wrath of my ass.

I forgo washing my hands and pound on the neighboring stall door. “I hope you’re happy,” I say to the pathetic whimpering man inside, “I can’t shit because of you. This is an unforgivable transgression!”

“I’m sorry James. I can’t control myself,” the voice said.

“Dale?”

“Yes James. It is I.”

“Step out,” I order. “Face me like a man you weakling!”

Dale unlocks the door and steps out with his head bowed like a yellow-bellied coward. His eyes were bloodshot and his face crusted by streams of tears. I was disgusted. “You sad little man,” I tell him.

He cries again.

“Don’t yell at me,” he begs. “My wife ran off with a knife salesman down to Kokomo. My son’s in jail for vehicular manslaughter and my doctor will no longer prescribe me dick pills.”

I slap him across the face. “Good!” I tell him, “a little adversity serves a man well from time to time. And you my dear Dale could use some shaping up! Look at you for Christ sake! Your tits are flopping out from behind your overalls!”

A fresh batch of tears flow from his eyes. “I can’t handle life no more!” he cries.

“There there,” I tell him. “There’s always hope. God is dead and when you die your memories fade away forever. A few will mourn your death but within weeks and months no one will think of you again. The universe is an empty and meaningless vortex that expands into infinity until it mercifully fades away into a quiet heat death. Then all that was will be no more. And when that day comes your concerns will seem like a speck floating on in an immense void shrouded in darkness. Some say there is no hope in this world but dare I say where gods cease to roam is where I find freedom! Seize this life! No one can do it but you!”

Dale nods his head. “I think I see what you’re saying,” he says. He wipes snot from his nose. “You’re saying I should take a loaded Colt .45 down to South Florida and settle matters with my wife’s lover.”

I throw my arm around his shoulder. I give him a warm embrace. “Now you’re getting it,” I say. “And don’t forget: you ARE god.”

I patted him on the back and he left the bathroom with his head held high like a man born anew. But my stomach still cramped. I exited through the front lobby where I was intercepted by the boss man. I tried to ignore him as I walked out the front door. “Is this an excused absence?” he shouted at me before the door closed.

I stood with one foot outside as I turned towards him. “Of course,” I lied, “I have an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“A turd doesn’t seem to want to leave my ass.”

TO BE CONTINUED….

To Sire, With Love (Part VI)

“Don’t you know how to talk to women?” Larry asked.

“I guess not,” I said.

“I knew you were stupid,” Larry added, “but holy fuck, you must be some goddamn reta…”

“Watch your language!” I interrupted, “I suffer from multiple learning disabilities, social disabilities, and various cognitive impairments. I also take numerous medications and I’m unable to remain steadily employed which is why I’m homeless. So have some fucking compassion, you imbecile!”

“Forgive me Donny,” he apologized. “But I know what it’s like to fuck things up with the love of your life. You need to go back and talk to her…”

“What’s the point?” I asked. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Besides, I don’t know if she’s the love of my life or just an infatuation to distract me from my shitty life.”

“Then just apologize to her. Tell her that you’re a moron and you don’t know how to talk to people. Trust me, you don’t want to leave this place wondering ‘what if?’ Besides, this is a homeless shelter. People shit, piss, and masturbate in the hallways all the time. You can’t make things anymore awkward.”

“What would you know about my predicament?” I ask.

“Trust me,” Larry curiously reiterated, “now go apologize.”

It was dinner time. I noticed Sam on the other end of the cafeteria passing out trays. So I stood up, straightened myself out, and shuffled towards her direction. As I got closer, I noticed she was purposely not looking my way. I shoved my hands in my pockets and bashfully began to speak. “So,” I said, “I’m sorry for making things awkward while you were unclogging my toilet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam replied, still not making eye contact.

“Well I know that I have trouble talking to people. And your job is difficult enough, so the last thing I wanted to do was make it harder.”

Sam removed her disposable rubber gloves and exhaled. “I appreciate your concern,” she said to me. “But I understand where you’re coming from. This probably isn’t the best time of your life.”

“Well, no it isn’t,” I said. “But I wasn’t always a hobo. I did attend Northeastern and was a successful real estate broker for many years. I just fell into some bad habits. First it was alcohol, and then it was sports. If only…” my voice began to crack, “if only I knew what sorry sack of shit I would become. I don’t want to be here, ya know? I thought I just had a sure fire bet. I thought Justin Fields was certainly going to be league MVP!”

Sam silently gazed at me as I wiped away a tear. I could sense her trying to find the right words. “I know how you feel,” she finally spoke. “I also thought he’d be league MVP.”

I was astonished. “So you know my pain?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m from Chicago. Unfortunately,” she explained. “Look Donny, if you want to talk some more, my break is in an hour.”

“Really? Okay, I look forward to it!”

“I just have to call my husband first.”

Fuck, I thought.

TO BE CONTINUED…

All the wrong reasons

The 2000s were a strange time. We knew the music we were listening to sucked ass but we listened anyway.

Of course I have fond memories of it all. Whenever Shinedown, Hinder, or Three Doors Down come on the radio, I think back to the days of sitting on someone’s dirty floor in their shitty apartment while playing Halo. It was godawful music, I knew it, but it always held a special place in my heart.

Then there’s Nickelback. Obviously they’re a punchline nowadays, but it’s hard to believe just how big they were. It’s embarrassing to be honest. No one in their right mind…even then…would have considered them a great (or even GOOD) band, but somehow All the Right Reasons became one of the best selling albums of all time.

Upon reflection, it pisses me off. Because Nickelback is now considered “classic” rock, they’re still trying to shove this bullshit down our throats. No one wants to listen to this crap on their morning commute. We’d be better off sitting in rush hour traffic sulking in our own despair.

Just read these shitty lyrics from Rockstar:

I want a brand new house on an episode of Cribs
And a bathroom I can play baseball in
And a king-size tub, big enough for ten plus me
(Uh, so what you need?)

I’ll need a credit card that’s got no limit
And a big black jet with a bedroom in it
Gonna join the mile high club at 37, 000 feet
(Been there, done that)

I want a new tour bus full of old guitars
My own star on Hollywood Boulevard
Somewhere between Cher and James Dean is fine for me
(So how you gonna do it?)

I’m gonna trade this life for fortune and fame
I’d even cut my hair and changed my name

‘Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars
And live in hilltop houses, driving 15 cars
The girls come easy, and the drugs come cheap
We’ll all stay skinny, ’cause we just won’t eat

And we’ll hang out in the coolest bars
In the V.I.P. with the movie stars
Every good gold digger’s gonna wind up there
Every Playboy Bunny with her bleached blond hair and, well

Hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar
Hmm, hey, hey, I wanna be a rockstar

I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels
Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes
Sign a couple autographs, so I can eat my meals for free
(I’ll have the quesadilla, haha!)
(Full credit, of course, goes to Nickelback for writing this monstrosity)

Did the trauma from 9/11 knock our shared belief in good taste? How was this possible?

We need answers before zoomers try to convince us that this was actually good music.

Jack Hardcock: The Wrath of God (Part IV)

The border crossing station stuck out against the barren desert. The two guards laughed as they contemplated their easy assignments. “Lo tenemos hecho,” one said to the other.

Suddenly a lone figure barged in. The guards stared in awe at the ominous character. “Passport, please?” one asked in broken English.

The mysterious figure pulled out his .38.

“Jack Hardcock,” a guard gasped.

“Which way to Juarez?” Jack asked.

The guards silently pointed to the west.

“Gracias,” he said.

As Jack walked away, the guards watched as marched towards the horizon. “Dios ayudanos,” they uttered.

Gunshots and Mariachi music echoed through the streets of Juarez. Jack feared no evil as he walked through the valley of death. He knew the city would face the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah; God’s vengeance would soon reign.

If he himself was the one to deliver this vengeance, Jack did not know.

“I’m looking for La Casa de La Muerte,” Jack said to a random street vendor.

“Que?” the vendor replied.

“I’m an American,” Jack stated, “it’s my right to not speak Spanish. So you better answer me or answer to my .38!”

“sé lo que estás diciendo,” the vendor said, “pero no conozco este lugar.”

Jack pistol whipped the vendor and prepared to empty his revolver into the poor bastard. But Heaven granted the man a reprieve: at that moment, an angelic voice appeared. “Jack, no!” it ordered.

Jack’s hand began to shiver as he aimed the .38. He knew this voice.

“Maria,” he uttered.

Jack slowly turned around. Maria was as radiant as a bluebonnet under the Texas sun. He thought he’d never see her face again. “Wh-what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’ve been in Juarez for sometime,” she said, “why did you not respond to my letters?”

“Maria,” he pleaded, “I’m so sorry. I…”

That moment, Pablo Santora came marching up in his Wrangler jeans and snakeskin boots. He put his arm around Maria. “Jack,” Pablo smiled from underneath his mustache, “so pleasant to see you again.”

“Pablo,” Jack simply said. He had to restrain himself.

Pablo lifted a cigar to his mouth. “Jack, old friend,” he continued, “I am the proprietor of La Casa de La Muerte. Please, stop by and see us, yeah?”

“Thank you for the invitation, Pablo,” Jack said.

“Mi amigo,” Pablo chuckled, and he slowly strolled away.

Jack and Maria continued to lock eyes.

“Why Maria?” Jack asked, “Why Pablo?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

So long toilet factory

For the last time, I will walk through those doors, pull down my pants, and take another 10 hour shit while on the clock.

I don’t like how things are ending. I gave that place so much of my blood, sweat, and tears (and so, so much shit). But this is the way it’s got to be.

Monday, I’ll embark on a new career working at the nut factory. God knows how that’s gonna pan out. Instead of shitting, I wonder what I’ll do in the bathroom for 10 hours? 🤔 😉

Anyway, my schedule’s changing. Hopefully the new job will give me a renewed sense of disdain for both my audience and life in general.

That’s when I write my best work. 👍