MIDDLE MAN
The desert’s crawlin’ with crazy arse Mujahideen freedom fighters itchin’ta cut short our little, Humanitarian Airlift, into Baghdad International Airport. Tracers arc red in the night sky. The buggers are bored to tears they are, sittin’ round their wee campfires, with nothin’ else to fill their time.
Waste’a good ammo that...
HIGH KICKS AND PARKING TIX
Miss Mary’s teeth aren't so good. She has what she calls a “bridge”. Not the kind at Houston Street where the subway goes over when Momma and me go to Brooklyn to visit Aunt Louise. It’s a bridge in her mouth. It holds her teeth in. I don’t quite understand it. She has the bridge to hold her teeth in but she takes it out to eat the fried chicken. It looks like a spider, fat little body, legs all over the place.
JUST THROW THEM OUT
She woke this morning to discover that her bowels had run. She stood quickly, and shed her clothing. Threw the reeking nightclothes to the floor. The kimono style bathrobe. The terrycloth nightie.
“Throw them out,” she says, staring at the pile, “just throw them out.”
Her husband does not hear her. He sleeps. His breathing still labored. His head still resting on the pillow.
”You can either wash them,” she says to no one in particular, “or throw them out. I don’t care.”