it's all yours, shorty

Oh, the ridiculousness of it all. To lose the business in a poker game. The shame seeps out of my pores as thick as water pours from a rat-clogged downspout. I give the fat little man the deed to my life up to now, exit by a color-drained alley, hiding my embarrassment with a dry umbrella like a neurotic movie star dodging flashbulbs sneaking out for a sack of donuts, and ride away on a stolen bike used only once by a humorless hair-bun widow carrying a little trembling dog in a wicker basket. Squeak squeak squeak.

Red Umbrella
~Christopher Shay