precipice

flashback: "what will you do if something goes wrong?"

"nothing will go wrong.", the bastard replie

"but what if? what would you do?" prodded my ladyfriend

"I've been doing this for 8 years this year. the process is bomb proof. nothing can go wrong."

flash forward: I pull into the garage, tired and a little loagy from the evening's repast. door open I fiddle for the garage keys and I see my daughter's butterfly toy that she has been enjoying as most 4 month olds do.

grab it to put it in my pocket and

close

the

door.

damn.

panicked, the bastard races to his old apartment to look for the set that the mofo uses but to no avail.

and he ain't home.

I call the local precinct but instead see a cop car backing up continental ave.

panting the officer asks me if I'm okay, looking concerned and perhaps had his hand on the piece just in case junkies wear trenchcoats these days.

officer bald and cautious apologizes as the po pos no longer carry slim jims and advises me to call a towing company apologizing again and wishing me luck.

sidebar: in today's age of information, one can procure the means to call a towing company quite quickly with a little iPhone app called "yelp". it has gotten the bastard from here to Kansas city and back and will presumably help feed me in the coming days

but tonight, it got my car open for me.

and to the little fella with the heat miser hair who is no doubt losing the cash I gave him in Atlantic city tonight as I type this, the bastard says thanks.

hunched over the couch, typing this, instead of getting the 4 hours of sleep I'll be getting shortly here I am chiding myself.

bombproof?

nothing will go wrong?

fuck that. this may be the year it all goes to hell.

and there I'll be.

riding that shit into the ground like slim pickins in dr strangelove.

yippy Kai yay mother fucker.

see you on the strip

—the bastard