Thursday, February 16, 2012

Slow and Mean

Put your hat on. Either one, it doesn’t matter. You’re hair’s a rat’s nest. In the mornings it looks like somebody’s jerked you around by head all night long

Me? No, don’t think so, hon. I’d like to about every night. That snoring, the tossing and turning, the whimpering and crying. And still, no talk of your dreams, or nightmares, I guess they must be. Either way, put a hat on. We need to go out for a bit for milk and bread and all those other items real people buy from time to time at places called grocery stores. You remember those don’t you?

Having so little to work with you sure still fall short. I saw a man the other day who was as coal-bucket dumb as you’ll ever dread being working at the plant out at Collins. The bottling plant. What’s it matter what I was doing there? None of your damn business, and you know it. Asking me what I’m doing here or there! Lord have some mercy on that crooked up soul of yours. I could sure as hell use it, a miracle like that.

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