the alley at 2 in the morn…

he was awakened by two sceamin’ drunks down in the alley…man and a woman yellin’ in Appalachian accents…she cried out…,Let me stay…I’ll be good this time…I’ll be good…, him tellin’ her to go on home…just get on home…

she yelled and kicked and screamed…carried on in a fit…the man just kept gettin’ angrier and angrier…had a forty ounce in his greasy hand held at the neck…threatened to use it if she kept it up…her cries turned into a whimper…

and he thought ’bout callin’ the police…have the boys in blue take care of it…he thought ’bout yellin’ down at ’em to stop…he thought ’bout a lotta things…

like when he used to get drunk back in the day…punchin’ holes in motel walls…tellin’ his old lady to get lost…yellin’ at ghosts in the middle of the night…

thought ’bout the mornin’s after…the shakes…dt’s…dry heaves…not havin’ ‘nough money to get a meal…his woman leavin’ him…days when he wandered ’round in the streets beggin’ for dollars…leathery red skin… bag of bones…

‘ventually the two stopped screamin’…they walked away down the alley…arm in arm…the battle was over for the night…no-one won…they still had each other…

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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