Sunday, September 27, 2009


so, three relatives walk out into the night.

the bastard knows that he's drivig them back to the thorough borough tonight.

no matter. the mofo logged a lot of driving time to make tonight possible and we three head off into the night, the bastard hoping like hell that he can find a spot later.

it was a good night for drinking.

for family nonsense.

and for talk about childbirth.

you see the accountant regaled me with tales of childbirth best left unsaid. a mad science drop nonetheless.

over the river and east, we speak of other crap which I cannot recall but at 2am one wonders why one's stomach grumbles.

"do taco bells in new York stay open late?" , the accountant inquires.

"I think so", i reply

"there is one on utopia open late. I used to go there during my days at the torch", the mofo concludes.

so it's a mad dash for the border.

meximelts in the brain for the bastard.

the idea of acid reflex never felt so good.

a junkie approached us while we dined. said he needed money for a cab to the subway.

i tell him that we're tapped knowing full well that the 7 train was a 20 minute walk and a walk might cure his junk sickness. he simply moved on to the next car.

i moved on to my next meximelt.

—the bastard


TW said...

Please, its The TORCH.

bastard central said...

no caps. left hand rob doesn't call me ee cummings on meth for nothing