Author: Sean D

(More writing inspired by quotes my friends send me. This one is inspired by my good friend Dusty Rhodes who told me the story of a guy who broke his ankle sliding into second base at a softball game.  I thought, let’s take it a bit darker. Today the mob makes a visit to a quiet sales office in the east coast.)

Richard was dressed in a orange and red plaid  suit.  His hair slicked back with grease, but it might have well enough been lard as much as it had been put in. His bookcase had cereal boxes from the sport teams that he supported because they were winners.  He once tore down a sign that had the letter D and a symbol of a fence and replaced it with a sign that said “Speed Kills”.  His championship debate trophy from high school as well as all of his achievements were on the wall behind him. Everything was about winning.  He never liked to lose. He lost once and his opponent sent him a cake in the shape of a tombstone.  He took a picture of the tombstone and showed it to anyone who didn’t understand why he didn’t like losing.

But in this moment of his life, it didn’t matter.

“Now Sally, I told you that I wasn’t going to take your smart ass bullshit anymore.  You’ve made my boss very angry,” said the 5′ pinstripe wearing guido that was watching as his “associates” repeatedly kick him in the groin and face.

“Please stop, I refund your money,” Richard said to Pinstripe.

“Look at you, what would your mother say?  Your ethics have gone to places where people don’t return.  You killed that kid.”

“I didn’t do anything, I was just trying to show her how to sell,” said Richards as Pinstripe called the beating to stop.

Pinstripe’s face turned into a stop sign.  His eyes bulged and he started to kick Richard in the balls repeatedly. “You call late night calls and harassment teaching son?  That was my niece.  She finished her life because you told her that she wouldn’t amount to anything. SHE KILLED HERSELF,” and with each word the cracking of the ribs continued to sound like popcorn.  People rushed up to try and stop the carnage but they were unable due to the 2 AK’s held in the hands of Pinstripe’s associates.

“I’m in so much pain, make them stop,” as the blood started to bubble from his mouth.

“It’ll feel better when it stops hurting, ” Pinstripe said as he kicked Richard in the face.  He slumped over and listened as the sounds of the police sirens got closer.  His associates had already left the building as people gathered around Richard.

“I can’t bring Sharee back, she was all my wife wanted in a child.  But you took that away.  So I’m taking it all from you.  You’re nothing but a two bit used car salesmen disguised as management.  Everyone will look at you and pity you because of what I did.  I’m warning you… if you hit on another woman in the office and I hear about it I’ll come back and remove your jaw with my bare hands.

“Come on boss, we gotta go,” said one of the gunman as he ran up the stairs.

“See ya later Dick,” Pinstripe said as he walked up the stairs to the exit.

As he passed the receptionist who stared in horror, Pinstripe turned and smiled “Have a nice day sugar tits!”

Richard never talked again.

The board table was filled with some of the tops in the community, “No-hair Harry”, “Windshield Wally”, and of course “BP Bob”.  It was the monthly meeting held under the freeway in the part of town where no one drove.  You got off on the access road at your own risk and the junkies and dealers were peddling their wares to whoever would listen.

“Now look guys, it’s time for quality review time,” said No-hair Harry.

“Aren’t you going to open the meeting in a civilized way Harry,” BP Bob interrupted. “we aren’t all neanderthals, we’re just homeless.”

“Fine, I call to order this meeting of the International Brotherhood of Homeless, Hobos and Street Performers Chapter 806,” Harry said with a smile.

“Move to waive the reading of the minutes,” No-teeth Natalie tried to say but it came out where noone could really understand her.  She just needed to feel like she had a purpose in life.

“Ok, let’s move on. Now let’s see everyone’s signs,” Windshield Wally said as he held his own up (Will wash your windshield for $5 or best offer).

All around the broken table that was held up with two shopping carts the members held up their signs one by one.

(Will Work For Food) – said White Trash Sally’s. “Good,” everyone said.

One nut Neil held up his sign and everyone started to laugh.

“What, what’s wrong? What did I do this time,” he said as he turned his sign around to look at it. “I changed it from the last one. I wasn’t getting any money and mostly got middle fingers with (Will have sex for food).”

“Now, look Neil, we’re homeless not illiterate,” Airhead Angela said.

“Yeah, I like the words but do you want the people that look at your sign say “I’m gonna hand the homeless guy a dollar and tell him to buy himself a vowel,” BP Bob laughed”

One Nut Neil looked at his sign. All it said was (I used to be an accountant plese help me with a dollar).

“What?”

“Would you like an A Vanna,” BP Bob said?

Neil jumped up and crossed pushing Soup kitchen Sandra to the ground as he tried to get to Bob, “Just because you screwed up the Gulf doesn’t mean I’ll feel any pity for you as I start kicking your ass up and down the hood Bob.”

As he got closer and closer to Bob the Peacemaker got between the two of them holding up a glass filled with what could best be described as prison punch.

“Why don’t you two just have a drink and relax,” he said and pushed the glass in Neil’s face.

Neil took a sip and started to gag, “this is worse than the last batch you made up, what did you put in it, lighter fluid?”

“Actually a tablespoon of battery acid for that extra pick me up,” Peacemaker said as everyone gathered around for their taste of the kidney killing nectar.

Sandra interrupted with a “remember that the south side soup kitchen has bran muffins this week!” This was greeted with cheers!

“Everyone remember the cops will looking in the north side this week so lets keep our activities to the east and south until the heat cools down and remember, we have our standards, don’t be like Big Voice Ted and try to go big time,” No-hair Harry said.

“Yeah. he doesn’t even remember I gave him that piece of cardboard.  He owes me 14.85% of his future earnings.” One Nut Neil said.

“I hope people remember that this could happen to them if things don’t change soon,” Bad beard Barry said as the meeting broke up.

“Well, more homeless could mean more membership dues, and just think of the strike fund that we can have,” said Tranny Taglibue.

As one by one they left for their assigned areas One Nut Neil was scratching out his new masterpiece.

(Bet ya can’t hit me with a quarter)

“That’ll do it!  I’ll be eating at the dollar menu by lunch today.”

Keegan played the guitar and wailed Bob Dylan while the winos drank their wine. No matter how hard he tried to involve the audience they weren’t buying what he was selling.

“Play some death metal,” one wino said with the paper bag wrapped around the two buck chuck he brought into the small open aired amphitheatre. The breeze blew lightly as the men started their shark like gathering near the bar waiting for the women like chum.

With a sigh, Keegan reminded the wino, that like the thirteen other times that it was requested that his repertoire did not include Slipknot, Freebird or any other of the inane requests that he was getting. It wasn’t his usual place to play on a Friday night. He just needed to let the guitar strings play a melody or two with someone that would listen. Normally, his apartment, a rough one bedroom studio that he rented after his rented house burned to the ground due to a rat chewing through the electrical lines, would have been the place to release his demons.

But today, his demons needed to be fed.  They needed to be given praise, hatred, just some kind of emotion that would keep him going.  Playing didn’t pay the bills anymore, ever since the selective cover charge that in the end seemed to be less and less even though more and more people showed up.  He knew that the alarm would fire early and he would be off once again driving the bus with the snot nosed brats that always “knew him from somewhere” but could never pull it together since they always left the bar with their inhibitions gone, drunk beyond recognition of the guitar player on stage with their panties in their dates pocket.

He looked into the crowd for the one person who got him, there was always one that he converted to the church of music every show, and if he couldn’t find them, he felt like he had to put the guitar up for good.

Tonight might be the night.

Then she walked into the door, being dragged by four sorority sisters, the one that was brought along to make the others look smaller. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t pretty, she had beautiful blue eyes and her smile made the room light up.

Keegan took the moment to switch from Clapton to Stevie Ray Vaughn soulfully pulling each string as the young women ordered sangria. He tried with each chord to touch their hearts but of the five women eighty percent of them were filled with hopes and dreams of completing the MRS degree.

As sangria turned into two, the men started their approach, one by one until she was left.

“I can’t believe it… Her blouse blends in with the couch. She’s domestically camoed,” said one of the sisters to the other as they walked out of the amphitheatre new acquisitions in hand ready to dance the night away. It didn’t matter as Keegan held her with his voice.

The so called friends, who had decided to leave her with “the musician”, as if he had a contagious disease, didn’t know but five years later would find out that he would write many songs, to the one , who others looked past, while he saw into her heart. He called her his love, companion, muse, and lover.

She preferred if he’d just call her by her name.