*

“Ah, there’s nothing wrong with her that a hundred dollars won’t fix.”


Tom Waits
9th & Hennepin

*

Today I stood around in the pouring rain doing a neighborhood canvas on a crime a week old because, well, because the FBI was involved, I think.

I’d thought I’d left that kind of detail behind ten years ago.

*

My little gay thin leather dress shoes didn’t stand up to it too well.

*

Then there was interviewing all the folks at the old folks home, asking them did they see or hear anything unusual in the middle of the night about a week ago?

I could write a goddamn book on that alone.

*

If there is anything sadder or more beautiful than this life I don’t want to know about it.

*

I fucking mean it.

*

I don’t know how to feel about anything. Standing around in my suit, soaked to the skin, listening to a demented old lady who smelled like pee, pretending to write shit down, I felt like I wanted to kill everyone I’d ever known. Not that I was mad, not that at all.

I just wanted to spare us all.

*

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they are killing the everloving fuck out of cops this year.

I get up early every morning and work my pistol craft because, well, if you want to kill me? You better bring your A game.

I will goddam run you over if you don’t.

*

I don’t need another drink, but I’m going to have it anyway.

*

Namaste.

***

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