Friday, July 10, 2009

noir bridge

I was a lucky guy so far. Many cement-shoed guys have been sunk under the bridge in the weeks before I arrived. I keep still at the dark table, waiting, waiting, as Tony has the girl tight by the wrist. Her mouth is a cavern of a silent scream, her eyes white heat spotlights of sheer terror. And right here in the restaurant. Two thugs come out of the shadows and haul me off just as I hope to splatter his Greek greasy temple to one side so his brains don't stain the poor girl's pale blue blouse. Some hero I am. Now I get new heavy shoes and visit a bunch of non-talkative guys under a bridge. Like a bridge over rancid water. Someone should write a tune. Shit.


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