scrabble

this guy…Irish-Catholic…good family…prep-schools…the perks…i knew ’em…

 so disillusioned with life…the trivial things…like…tying shoes…flipping an egg…frustrated with all these processes…too much…

we would talk…play scrabble in a coffee-shop…he’d always win…said, before I begin…I say to myself…just see the board…just see the board, he did…

went from job to job to job…wandering ’round…goin’no-where…sold liquor…sold cars…sold pencils…tryin’ to get by…’nough for booze and broads… simple things…

time passed…got hard on the mick…took to stealin’…bad checks…written out at night when times got lonely…these things never end well…never…

hadn’t seen him in years…long while…heard he served time…a little…enough to do him in…doesn’t take much…

on a cold December day before Christmas his story was told to me by a grieving father and mother…huddled in a living room…arms around all in an unbroken circle…

the mick’s body was found dangling from a ceiling in a halfway-house…filled with drink…junk…toxins…rope ’round the neck…chair kicked-out…

 gone, the dad said, gone and there’s nothing that can be done about that…what’s done is done…

he just wanted to see the board…just see the board…

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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