10 Sept 01
10:04 PM
I’m sitting in my study with a few candles highlighting the four inclosing walls that are surrounding me. Keeping me company is a fifth of Jack Daniels as I listen to Metallica’s “Ride The Lighting.” The album is very appropriate right now as I’m seriously debating about the various ways to kill myself. As I mentioned in yesterday’s log, I’m still not over my fiancé leaving me for a man that got her pregnant while I was away on business. Ain’t that some shit. I guess hard work doesn’t always pay off. For example, I showed up to work on time this morning as usual and as I’m pouring my morning coffee my boss says, “Hey, Bradley, come to my office when you done doctoring your coffee.” I poured my cream and sugar into my cup, and headed straight to his office. Just as I stepped through the threshold of his office he says, “Close the door behind you.” So I did and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk. I was kinda in good spirits this morning. Work has been keeping me busy from thinking about, the Bitch, and I’m also up for promotion so I was eager to hear some good news. My boss dropped some report he was combing over and then proceeded to relay some bad news. In short he says, “Bradley, I know you have been doing one hell of a good job and I’m thankful to have you aboard here.” The acknowledgement put a smile on my face sensing good news was mere seconds away. He concluded, “But I’m afraid we have to let you go. We are having some difficult financial times lately and the company has decided to let some people go. I’m sorry, Bradley. You can work the rest of the week and collect your severance check on Friday.” And this was my day.
Let’s get back to the suicide subject. Since the breakup I’ve contemplated suicide, mostly because I’m lonely and hurting real bad but now that I’m getting laid off so suicide sounds like a great idea to an end of a crappy week. At first, I’ve thought about hanging myself since that is the old, rich tradition of committing suicide but I kinda wanna go out with something fresh and new. I’ve never had my 15 minutes so I want this suicide to be my 15. So, I’ve been thinking about getting a grenade and strapping the grenade to my chest right where my heart is and blowing my heart to pieces. I mean that is where the real pain is. The pain is so bad that I have been having trouble breathing at times like in the elevators at work and at night as I lay in bed. I didn’t want to do the Kurt Cobain style and blow my head off because sometimes that shit back fires, and I living with a fucked up face for the rest of my life--No Thank You!!!! And slicing my wrist seems to be slow and drawn out, and to much like the “Virgin Suicides.” Too dramatic for me. However, someone finding me in my bathtub with my wrist sliced sounds really up my ex‘s alley. She would think the sliced wrist was cool. She is weird like that. Perhaps, the Bitch, will suffer some from hearing about the way I went out. Na….fuck her. This suicide is about me and not about her pain. That being said, going out in a blaze of glory like “Young Guns” style sounds really cool and gangsta. I can see myself with two glocks and in a gun fight with the cops. Billy the Kid would be proud. I would probably make the headlines but this suicide mission shouldn’t be advocating suicide. It’s my personal 15 mins. Besides, I would laugh at the copycats who took away my 15--damn crumb snatchers. This suicide is about me ending my pain and moving on to the next hemisphere. If there is another hemisphere?
The weed and the alcohol is kicking in now, and my emotions are running on full cylinders. This suicide is becoming all to real as tomorrow is around the hour. For some reason and it’s probably the weed, but the book “Dante’s Inferno” is stuck in my head. I remember reading the “Inferno” in college and the people who committed suicide in the “Inferno” were stuck in purgatory with bad people and terrible heat too. I don’t even like the heat which why I moved to New York from Texas. “Do I really wanna be trapped in purgatory with whips, chains, fire, and listening to Bauhaus?” That’s to gothic and shit--No Thank You!!!
10 Sept 01
11:37 PM
I’m back. I had a bathroom break. But some good news happened while I was taking a dump which made me feel real dumb. I work in the Twin Towers--Duh. Why not just jump? I think others have done it? They say before one hit’s the ground he/she is lifeless before the impact. What a perfect way to go!!! I’ll jump and die before I hit the ground. But then again I’m not so thrilled about jumping. I’m afraid of heights. I’ll probably back out once I’m on the ledge. Damn, this suicide mission is complicated. I’m getting sleepy now. I should sleep on it and figure it out tomorrow. I wish God or Jesus are listening to me right now. I really need some help and answers with this suicide thing. I’ll say a prayer and hopefully they’ll hear me or help me.
11 Sept 01
5:15 AM
It’s five in the morning and I’m having trouble sleeping. The pain in my heart is just too much and it’s giving me a headache. I got a joint in hand and I’m watching videos of Metallica as I’m preparing myself for this big fall of faith. I think I’m going to jump after all. I haven’t heard from Jesus or God, so I think it’s a go. I suppose I should take a shower and get ready for work. I gotta be at the office at 747.
11 Sept 01
7:10 AM
I’m on the subway heading to the Towers. Despite the darkness that lurks in and out of my head I’m feeling really good about things. Judging by the dynamics of the rest of people on the subway with their smiles blaring loudly and each dialogue has a bit kindness and candidness, I figure today is going to be a good one but odd. The setting I’m in is a bit odd for New York, especially in the subway at seven in the morning. Most people are freaking pissed off and delusional. Today is going to be odd--really odd. Thank God I brought my “Ride The Lightning” cd for this odd day. The cd is keeping things in prospective--Creeping Death. My stop is coming up, so I’ll be back after I get checked in at the office. Got a long elevator ride coming up.
11 Sept 01
7:59 AM
I’m finally at my desk. And I have to admit, since it’s my last few words of my life today, “This office has the best coffee in New York--hands down. Oh lord…I’m going to miss this coffee.” My boss isn’t here yet, so I got “Ride The Lightning” on full blast on my headphones. It’s pretty rad. I thought about leaving my Discman at my desk, so that the last sounds I hear would be the wind peeling back my face but that’s not going to happen. I’ve just decided that this trip needs some “Ride The Lightning.” You know what they say, “Fight Fire With Fire.” What kinda sucks right now is that I’m here at work with work to do and I don’t care to do it. They’re letting me go at the end of the week. Right? Fuck it!!!! It’s Tetrus time with “Whom The Bell Tolls.”
11 Sept 01
8:36 AM
Shit is hitting the fan right about now. Apparently, a plane is heading our way. Everyone is scrabbling around gathering up stuff they don’t need and heading toward the exits. I guess no work today. I, on the other hand, I’m feeling the emptiness leaving me with every stroke of this pen. It’s odd. Odd Day!!!! If you’re reading this that means my co-worker, Vicky, made it and didn‘t drop my journal panicking racing to the exits. I guess God or Jesus were listening. “Fade To Black.”
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Kangkuza
The sun appeared to be at it’s high noon hour as the sun cast a slim shadow of my former self on the chalk filled sidewalk just steps away from my front door. I smiled briefly at the projected slim character as I’m a bit rounder these days at my peppered age. I didn’t spend much time embracing my slimmer self on the sidewalk for to long as I was in a rush to be somewhere at noon. I’m just not one to dwell on the past as the past was for the dead to reflect on. Moreover, as I strolled south on S. Congress I took a glance at my watch just to make sure my assumption of the time was right. I’m not a fan of looking like an ass by assuming wrong even when I’m testing myself. My time telling talent was still as accurate as ever, as both hands of my watch stood erected perfectly aligned pointing toward the noon sun like a blood hound points toward a wounded rabbit on a hunt. The vertical idled hands on my watch were telling me a whispering message, yet with my hard of hearing issues I couldn’t hear a damn thing what time was saying. So with each wondering step I left on the canvas sidewalk I looked up at the sun with Clint Eastwood eyes bulldoggin’ the sun tryin’ to break the message—what does noon mean? But neither the high noon sun nor the time on my watch were helpin’ an old man figure out today‘s message. The noon sun just sat there perched in the sky like an overweight insomniac counting sheep till 2012, and as far as time was concerned time just cared about time. I was ok with time being self centered it was business not personal. Yet, despite the lack of clues I still kept looking back at the sun and then my watch hoping for some kind of a clue. By this time I was about to say fuck it and move on with the day but I took one last peek at my watch, and noticed the speedy minute hand was approaching 12:01, when a green-lite bulb (I’m conserving my carbon footprint thoughts) lit up the old, rusty think tank. The message was clear and simple now--04 Lounge at high noon. When the message converged in my thinking cap, I was standing mere feet away from the corner of Congress and Krebs where the 04 Lounge patiently waited for me like an old friend, and I really needed a cold, frosty friend right about now.
A frosty friend had been on my mind this whole time as soon as I left my front door but I had just forgotten where to go, perhaps Alzheimer’s was knocking on mortal doors. The heat and the damn pestering sun beams elevated my desire for a cold one, and together they both made me feel like I was being attacked by mid-summer night Texan mosquitoes. It was at this point I needed a frosty friend…pronto. My blood pressure was boiling and my violent tendencies were about to erupt, so the 04 Lounge came at a good time as I needed to ease my pain. This angst feeling would not have been so bad if I could have only found my sunglasses which I just bought yesterday and are now missing. Since I didn’t have my sunglasses the ultra-violent rays were driving me mad to the point that I would have slashed the throat of the next homeless man who asked me for money. Homeless folks are a plenty between my home and the 04 Lounge but you wouldn‘t have noticed them if you were driving as they hide and lurk in the shadows like creatures from Jurassic Park. Some of my neighbors would have agreed that these bums were genetically related to Velociraptors, as they stormed out of the shadows looking for free handouts--damn crumb snatchers!!!
As you might have noticed I had a horrible temper but I’ve made some strides these past thirty plus years….I think. When I was younger I was notorious for whipping out a blade or a pistol to solve my problems of the day. But I’ve been working on that but it’s a day to day process, and each day was different from the next. However, the older I’ve gotten I found myself drinking more alcohol which has stabilized my murderous ways. Drinking just made everything feel so much better inside and out even when things were going well.
My temper today wasn’t so much triggered by the annoying weather elements but more so of the homeless folks on my street. I was not an evil man or uncompassionate to those in need but a world without sunglasses really pissed me off, especially at my old age. Where I’m from we don’t tolerate the homeless too well. It’s a sign of weakness, of givin’ up. We were a proud culture. And I say “were” because most of us are dead or locked away for a lifetime. If a man was healthy and had his paws, fingers, legs, and feet he could easily have found work to make money be it manual labor or criminal activity, two of the same depending how one looked at the big picture. Furthermore, as soon as my paw grabbed the door knob of the 04 Lounge, my high blood pressure began to ease up and my murderous ways grew calm again. Something about the darkness of the 04 Lounge was very comforting like a bowl of chicken tortilla soup for the soul. And with the sight of Yvette and Erin behind the bar they brought a smile to my face at a crucial time. Thankfully, the bar had just opened so it was just the girls, me, and the dandruff brain cells of last night. And before I could get my ass settled onto the barstool Erin had grabbed the coldest Coors out of the cooler and slid the yella-belly down the bar right into my paw.
The girls and I talked for a bit about a whole bunch of stuff I know nothing about. I don‘t have a TV at home so I don’t know much about TV stuff but I know things about life, and so the girls were quick to ask questions and or advice about all thoughts related to getting‘ grown. Hanging with the girls was actually what I needed at my age. I missed out on some things, mostly my sensitivity. These girls helped me with such issues pertaining to the pretty things in life that I wasn‘t aware of.
For example, the preservation of life. Killing always came easy to me. Just never thought about the lost too much. But being friends with the girls they taught me that killing is not always the answer. Back home in my youth, the only thing I knew what to do was to murder someone if they disrespected me or if I didn‘t trust them. One never knew who was to be trusted, and sometimes your right hand man was your worst enemy. Killing was just the thing to do.
I killed off most of my competition to get to the top, and I even killed off the ones I loved because I couldn’t trust them including past lovers. For this reason I lived a sheltered life back home and made decisions from the safety of my own home because I was afraid to leave my compound. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t trust anyone, and when the other bosses wanted to have a meeting about business everyone came to my place. My place was a safe house for the other bosses and I to conduct business, and since I was “The Boss” they really had no choice.
When business went sour because a new political regime flourished throughout the country that meant my money was weak. Times had changed. I made a choice to retire from the Kangkuza and I moved to the states to get a fresh start, “new beginnings” as they say. The good o‘ days had come to an end. The healing process took some time as well as forgiving myself for all the wrongs I did. I tried to acclimate myself in my new surroundings to speed up the moving on process, but I just never seemed to never fit in. I felt like a black monster from the black lagoon, yet the only thing I was doing wrong was that I was a kangaroo walking amongst humans. Back home I was a Boss, a King of all the Kangkuzas but here I was strange and radical looking. I guess no one had ever seen a talking kangaroo outside of children‘s books. So, naturally I kept to myself again. However, some years later the 04 Lounge and the girls brought me out of my cave, and both became my therapist. The girl’s perspective was always enlightening and feelings oriented, which helped the grueling healing process. Not only did they teach me that killing was unhealthy but they introduced me to this phenomenon called “feelings.” I didn’t have much feelings before. The Kangkuza lifestyle didn’t call for feelings. The Kangkuza called for power and dominance. The Kangkuza were a crime family from Australia made up of kangaroos, who were involved in all various of crimes. But I’ll never talk.
Shortly after catching up with the girls, they went back to work and I went back to my Coors. The bar was quiet for a bit until the rattlin’ of the beers, the liquor bottles being faced, and the dancing ice cubs in the coolers. All sounds of a ceremonial rite of passage for the incoming drunks. The flat screens were powered on and on mute--thankfully. I was never much into TV but the visual stimulation trifecta of baseball tonight on ESPN, the war in Iraq on CNN, and a show about gangs in St. Louis on FX were just enough for this old man to handle. The show about gangs had STL kids acting foolish. The kids, well, all kids in gangs these days had no respect for anyone or their neighborhood. Back in the old days in the homeland “respect” was everything and anything. “Respect” was like a credit line in these modern times. If you didn’t have respect for the neighborhood or the bosses, life was slim Pickens’ for sure. Nobody would have given you a job or the time of day. On this particular show, the kids appeared to be claiming their hood, yet they robbed and killed within’ their hood--makes no sense no how. A crime against a local business owner and or the innocent youth of the community was considered a very bad thing. Let’s just say, those punks would not have gotten an “Amber Alert” if they showed no respect back in the old days.
I was in the midst of respecting my second Coors and watching the devolution of the human race on the tube when the front door of the 04 Lounge swung open and out from the bright, blaring sun came this young Mexican looking kid with long curly locks and a chiseled face. He strolled in with a glow to himself like that of Jesus. He was dressed very humbled with a white-t, blue jeans, and a pair of Jesus sandals. He made a b-line straight to the bar never once scanning around the place. And of all the places to sit in this joint he causally sat down next to me. For as long as I’ve been coming to this bar nobody sat next to me. It was like house rules. The girls always made sure I wasn’t to be bothered and they always went out of their way to let the stranger/s know not to sit next to me. That’s why both girls stopped what they were doing and looked up at me to make sure I was cool with the stranger sitting next to me. I gave the girls a nod lettin’ them know I’m ok with the stranger. He respectfully ordered his beer, a Lone Star, and proceeded to slam the beer down with one big gulp. I appreciated that. “This boy had a powerful thirst,” I thought. I too had a powerful thirst.
I was coming to the end of my cold friend when the Jesus looking kid ordered another Lone Star and added a cold Coors to his tab. “That Coors is for my friend over here,” he said as he tapped on my shoulder. The kid then pulled out a pack cigarettes, Camels, my favorites and asked, “So old timer, wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
I looked over my right shoulder with Eastwood eyes. “What’s your name, Kid?” I paused as I looked him over. “I don‘t share anything with anyone if I don‘t their name.”
“My name is Chuey.” He said with a Spanish lisp as he took out two Camels from the pack. “What about you, old timer. What’s your name?”
I was always cautious to strangers because as you know I don’t trust anyone but I’m turning over a new leaf like I said earlier. “My name is, Fujimatso.” I replied with a handshake.
We shook hands and I followed him to the outside patio for a smoke. We sat at one of the far end picnic tables that was shaded by an aged pecan tree that blocked the microwave oven up above. He handed me a cigarette with his right hand as his left hand searched for the lighter in his pockets. “I think I left my lighter inside,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth as he searched all his pockets with both hands. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t pay much attention to him as I was more focused to this amazing design of a cloud in the sky in the shape of a white galloping horse. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. The kid disappeared from my sights. I’m not sure why I left my guard down, maybe I was making some progress with trust at my forgiving age. For whatever reason, the white horse up above seemed to be stalled as it stopped galloping, and before I could get my bearings I had a sharp object pressed against my throat. I looked up and it was Chuey looking down upon me. “Do you remember a man named, Cheng Lee?” He asked with a blade to my throat. “He was a boss back in the old country.”
The name sounded familiar but the name registered quickly. “Yes…he was my best friend. He took the only girl I ever loved, so I killed him and her happily.” I replied with a smile.
Chuey pressed the blade even harder against my throat to point that I felt a little blood trickle under my Adam’s apple. “The man was my great-grandfather.” Chuey whispered with revenge to his tone. Without hesitation or any more spoken words the kid proceeded to slice my throat open. I didn’t cry for help because I couldn’t. I knew this day would come. I just sat and watched that white horse begin it’s gallop again. And all the pretty things in life that I missed out on suddenly flooded out as the blood had begun to paint the Earth canvas red. As my body began to weakened as I sat on the bench and the only words that came to mind, “Damn James.”
A frosty friend had been on my mind this whole time as soon as I left my front door but I had just forgotten where to go, perhaps Alzheimer’s was knocking on mortal doors. The heat and the damn pestering sun beams elevated my desire for a cold one, and together they both made me feel like I was being attacked by mid-summer night Texan mosquitoes. It was at this point I needed a frosty friend…pronto. My blood pressure was boiling and my violent tendencies were about to erupt, so the 04 Lounge came at a good time as I needed to ease my pain. This angst feeling would not have been so bad if I could have only found my sunglasses which I just bought yesterday and are now missing. Since I didn’t have my sunglasses the ultra-violent rays were driving me mad to the point that I would have slashed the throat of the next homeless man who asked me for money. Homeless folks are a plenty between my home and the 04 Lounge but you wouldn‘t have noticed them if you were driving as they hide and lurk in the shadows like creatures from Jurassic Park. Some of my neighbors would have agreed that these bums were genetically related to Velociraptors, as they stormed out of the shadows looking for free handouts--damn crumb snatchers!!!
As you might have noticed I had a horrible temper but I’ve made some strides these past thirty plus years….I think. When I was younger I was notorious for whipping out a blade or a pistol to solve my problems of the day. But I’ve been working on that but it’s a day to day process, and each day was different from the next. However, the older I’ve gotten I found myself drinking more alcohol which has stabilized my murderous ways. Drinking just made everything feel so much better inside and out even when things were going well.
My temper today wasn’t so much triggered by the annoying weather elements but more so of the homeless folks on my street. I was not an evil man or uncompassionate to those in need but a world without sunglasses really pissed me off, especially at my old age. Where I’m from we don’t tolerate the homeless too well. It’s a sign of weakness, of givin’ up. We were a proud culture. And I say “were” because most of us are dead or locked away for a lifetime. If a man was healthy and had his paws, fingers, legs, and feet he could easily have found work to make money be it manual labor or criminal activity, two of the same depending how one looked at the big picture. Furthermore, as soon as my paw grabbed the door knob of the 04 Lounge, my high blood pressure began to ease up and my murderous ways grew calm again. Something about the darkness of the 04 Lounge was very comforting like a bowl of chicken tortilla soup for the soul. And with the sight of Yvette and Erin behind the bar they brought a smile to my face at a crucial time. Thankfully, the bar had just opened so it was just the girls, me, and the dandruff brain cells of last night. And before I could get my ass settled onto the barstool Erin had grabbed the coldest Coors out of the cooler and slid the yella-belly down the bar right into my paw.
The girls and I talked for a bit about a whole bunch of stuff I know nothing about. I don‘t have a TV at home so I don’t know much about TV stuff but I know things about life, and so the girls were quick to ask questions and or advice about all thoughts related to getting‘ grown. Hanging with the girls was actually what I needed at my age. I missed out on some things, mostly my sensitivity. These girls helped me with such issues pertaining to the pretty things in life that I wasn‘t aware of.
For example, the preservation of life. Killing always came easy to me. Just never thought about the lost too much. But being friends with the girls they taught me that killing is not always the answer. Back home in my youth, the only thing I knew what to do was to murder someone if they disrespected me or if I didn‘t trust them. One never knew who was to be trusted, and sometimes your right hand man was your worst enemy. Killing was just the thing to do.
I killed off most of my competition to get to the top, and I even killed off the ones I loved because I couldn’t trust them including past lovers. For this reason I lived a sheltered life back home and made decisions from the safety of my own home because I was afraid to leave my compound. I didn’t have many friends and I didn’t trust anyone, and when the other bosses wanted to have a meeting about business everyone came to my place. My place was a safe house for the other bosses and I to conduct business, and since I was “The Boss” they really had no choice.
When business went sour because a new political regime flourished throughout the country that meant my money was weak. Times had changed. I made a choice to retire from the Kangkuza and I moved to the states to get a fresh start, “new beginnings” as they say. The good o‘ days had come to an end. The healing process took some time as well as forgiving myself for all the wrongs I did. I tried to acclimate myself in my new surroundings to speed up the moving on process, but I just never seemed to never fit in. I felt like a black monster from the black lagoon, yet the only thing I was doing wrong was that I was a kangaroo walking amongst humans. Back home I was a Boss, a King of all the Kangkuzas but here I was strange and radical looking. I guess no one had ever seen a talking kangaroo outside of children‘s books. So, naturally I kept to myself again. However, some years later the 04 Lounge and the girls brought me out of my cave, and both became my therapist. The girl’s perspective was always enlightening and feelings oriented, which helped the grueling healing process. Not only did they teach me that killing was unhealthy but they introduced me to this phenomenon called “feelings.” I didn’t have much feelings before. The Kangkuza lifestyle didn’t call for feelings. The Kangkuza called for power and dominance. The Kangkuza were a crime family from Australia made up of kangaroos, who were involved in all various of crimes. But I’ll never talk.
Shortly after catching up with the girls, they went back to work and I went back to my Coors. The bar was quiet for a bit until the rattlin’ of the beers, the liquor bottles being faced, and the dancing ice cubs in the coolers. All sounds of a ceremonial rite of passage for the incoming drunks. The flat screens were powered on and on mute--thankfully. I was never much into TV but the visual stimulation trifecta of baseball tonight on ESPN, the war in Iraq on CNN, and a show about gangs in St. Louis on FX were just enough for this old man to handle. The show about gangs had STL kids acting foolish. The kids, well, all kids in gangs these days had no respect for anyone or their neighborhood. Back in the old days in the homeland “respect” was everything and anything. “Respect” was like a credit line in these modern times. If you didn’t have respect for the neighborhood or the bosses, life was slim Pickens’ for sure. Nobody would have given you a job or the time of day. On this particular show, the kids appeared to be claiming their hood, yet they robbed and killed within’ their hood--makes no sense no how. A crime against a local business owner and or the innocent youth of the community was considered a very bad thing. Let’s just say, those punks would not have gotten an “Amber Alert” if they showed no respect back in the old days.
I was in the midst of respecting my second Coors and watching the devolution of the human race on the tube when the front door of the 04 Lounge swung open and out from the bright, blaring sun came this young Mexican looking kid with long curly locks and a chiseled face. He strolled in with a glow to himself like that of Jesus. He was dressed very humbled with a white-t, blue jeans, and a pair of Jesus sandals. He made a b-line straight to the bar never once scanning around the place. And of all the places to sit in this joint he causally sat down next to me. For as long as I’ve been coming to this bar nobody sat next to me. It was like house rules. The girls always made sure I wasn’t to be bothered and they always went out of their way to let the stranger/s know not to sit next to me. That’s why both girls stopped what they were doing and looked up at me to make sure I was cool with the stranger sitting next to me. I gave the girls a nod lettin’ them know I’m ok with the stranger. He respectfully ordered his beer, a Lone Star, and proceeded to slam the beer down with one big gulp. I appreciated that. “This boy had a powerful thirst,” I thought. I too had a powerful thirst.
I was coming to the end of my cold friend when the Jesus looking kid ordered another Lone Star and added a cold Coors to his tab. “That Coors is for my friend over here,” he said as he tapped on my shoulder. The kid then pulled out a pack cigarettes, Camels, my favorites and asked, “So old timer, wanna have a smoke with me outside?”
I looked over my right shoulder with Eastwood eyes. “What’s your name, Kid?” I paused as I looked him over. “I don‘t share anything with anyone if I don‘t their name.”
“My name is Chuey.” He said with a Spanish lisp as he took out two Camels from the pack. “What about you, old timer. What’s your name?”
I was always cautious to strangers because as you know I don’t trust anyone but I’m turning over a new leaf like I said earlier. “My name is, Fujimatso.” I replied with a handshake.
We shook hands and I followed him to the outside patio for a smoke. We sat at one of the far end picnic tables that was shaded by an aged pecan tree that blocked the microwave oven up above. He handed me a cigarette with his right hand as his left hand searched for the lighter in his pockets. “I think I left my lighter inside,” he mumbled with a cigarette in his mouth as he searched all his pockets with both hands. “I’ll be back.”
I didn’t pay much attention to him as I was more focused to this amazing design of a cloud in the sky in the shape of a white galloping horse. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful before in my life. The kid disappeared from my sights. I’m not sure why I left my guard down, maybe I was making some progress with trust at my forgiving age. For whatever reason, the white horse up above seemed to be stalled as it stopped galloping, and before I could get my bearings I had a sharp object pressed against my throat. I looked up and it was Chuey looking down upon me. “Do you remember a man named, Cheng Lee?” He asked with a blade to my throat. “He was a boss back in the old country.”
The name sounded familiar but the name registered quickly. “Yes…he was my best friend. He took the only girl I ever loved, so I killed him and her happily.” I replied with a smile.
Chuey pressed the blade even harder against my throat to point that I felt a little blood trickle under my Adam’s apple. “The man was my great-grandfather.” Chuey whispered with revenge to his tone. Without hesitation or any more spoken words the kid proceeded to slice my throat open. I didn’t cry for help because I couldn’t. I knew this day would come. I just sat and watched that white horse begin it’s gallop again. And all the pretty things in life that I missed out on suddenly flooded out as the blood had begun to paint the Earth canvas red. As my body began to weakened as I sat on the bench and the only words that came to mind, “Damn James.”
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