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Moms let fly

October 27, 2007

Spittin’ splinters and finishing my skid, I get the pistol. I look up and there by the door is Anne-marie, and she is giving me that sideways grin, and the remains of a chair are in her hands and that lyin fuck asshole Rudy is face down on the checkerboard tile. He is out like a light I’m thinkin. Life is beautiful. This girl is all of a sudden getting very close to an A plus for the day. Over a peroid of time she just keeps seeming to know exactly not only how to keep me guessing, but how to do the right thing at the most neccessary moment. Like Moms used to say sometimes, be still my fuckin’ heart. She said it once, I was layin on the floor under the ironing board with my little trucks and what not. She was slappin the Iron down, making it hiss from the starch-water she was sprinkling on Pops’ dress shirts. Another World War two movie was on and some soldier started kissin on a Nurse in a tunnel on the Phillipines, talking about ‘no matter what blah, blah, blah’, and Moms let fly. Be still my fuckin’ heart. I probably didn’t laugh, but I should’ve. I mean, I got it but I didn’t know I got it. BUT, at THIS moment I had the .380 and all Anne-Marie had was what’s left of a chair, and I knew that things could maybe go sideways anytime. Just to break the spell, Boss now went kiester up and started howling like a cat mashed under your Aunties’ garden gate. What an absolute asshole he turned out to be.

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