Four dang thirty in the p.m. and the suns razor blading the bald center of this old farts fro. Dark rolled up rapid tonight. People are checking the sky all surprised when they come out the automatic door. How many times have I seen that door ghost open and ghost shut? Tonight goes like I think its gonna go and this could be the last time in history I see this Walgreen. Dang, man. That feels weird to think. Whos gonna bust the balls of Salvation Army Santa if Im not around? Whos gonna bust the balls of Dick Trickle?

* * *

When the door shuts and the Monster Mash is sealed in, no cars come by for a bit and the only thing I hear is leaves crabbing their monster claws across the cement. If thats the real life sound of the night then I better keep talking and talking and talking cuz what if that cold ass click clacking is all I can hear when Im stuck all alone inside some juvie cage like Robbie used to be?

* * *

I go <You keep your Lord, all right? You keep your gangs. I dont need them.>

* * *

Hes like <If that isnt gang garbage on your jacket then I apologize. Honestly those words might be the best thing you have going. Reminds me of something the Bishop might say. About saving the city, about how you cant let your people fail.> Dick Trickle shrugs and his prehistorical face gets even darker cuz the suns stuck behind public housing. <It sounds heroic. Sounds like the words of a hero. Is that why you wear them on your back?>

* * *

For a sec it gets me thinking. What if the cobwebby old geezer is right? What if the whole reason I feel Lord of the Rings so powerful and wrote it on my jean jacket is so that the marker can soak through to my skin and I can start fighting for the forces of good. Those two superstars that dapped and kissed Dick Trickle, his church on Golden Boulevard, this Bishop dude he keeps mentioning. Its like Dick Trickle is the real deal. He dont need no Barack Obama mask. Hes got so much fam hes got to celery up to stay healthy so he dont die and all his loved ones cry forever. What do I got? All I got? I got this jacket trying to inject Peter Jacksons inspirations into my veins.

* * *

But I cant help it, I go <Never mind your stale minimum wage ass why I do any a the stuff I do! You got that, robocop? Say what? Cant understand your old man cartoon language either behind them filth ass dentures! You best report cuz Im about to punch you in the dang dick, you hear? You hear me, you geriatrical dicksuck punk?>

* * *

Thats what I say.

* * *

The truth though is Im wondering.

Feast

Feast