Lucky Lanky was the town miscreant. 6' 4" tall, lean, wirey, and stupid. His head was shaped like a squash, big, jutting chin, narrow upper cheeks, and bulbous forehead. He always carried a pair of dice in his right coat pocket, a brown Carheart with worn elbows and a ripped out zipper, and you could always here him fiddling with those dice in his pocket, occasionally taking them out, tossing them in the air, and hollering "Hot dog! Two pea cocks are just as gooder as one!" I was sitting and contemplatively sipping my non sweatened tea, starring at the juke box, when lucky walked in.
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by John Doe 18 Replies latest jw friends
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sweetstuff
Lucky hardly looked the lucky kind. Short, squat and rumpled he santered towards me with a nod and proceeded towards the counter. He mumbled something about the class of customers in here lately to the waitress, but then, Lucky was known for being as unlucky with his mouth as his was with his cards.
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sweetstuff
I re-wrote your character, bahahahahaha! Evil laugh.
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John Doe
went the snide, laughing voice in my head. I was getting tired of that insolent jerk, and knew I'd have to take a couple more Prozac. No, that voice doesn't like the Prozac, sneaky bastard. As I was wondering if it would be a good idea to have a Miller, since I'd just taken a sleeping pill to calm my nerves, Lucky broke out laughing. The bar tender looked up from the drink he was pooring, raised one eyebrow, and said "You got a problem son?"
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sweetstuff
"Not a problem unless you wanna make it a problem" Lucky said glaringly, his laughter gone as quick as it came. "Good then" replied the bartender, his hand ungripping the baseball bat that lay behind the bar. "We don't want no trouble here Lucky". Lucky looked toward the bartender again, a snarl evident on his lip but said nothing, he swayed backwards a bit then caught his bearings to take a good look around him. He eyed everyone up as a cutthroat eyes up a purse sizing what kind of score it holds inside it.
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John Doe
And then he saw me. Looking into his eyes is like looking into the eyes of a friendly pit bull. Sure he looks humored and jovial, but you know that anything that smells a bit off or looks like a challenging pose and he'll be up, lunging at his collar, and snarling for a bite. "Down fella," I thought to myself as I reached slowly for the bowie in my belt line. It was a nice knife, my grandpa had given it to me. 14" of American steel, polished to a shimering shine, and sharper than a surgeon's razor--no gut hook required. And then that crazy voice crept back in. Where had I heard that voice before? Where was it? Vietnam, 1969. Yeah, I'd thought I'd forgotten that voice. . .
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sweetstuff
It was easy to forget that voice, with all the other voices ringing inside my head, all clamouring to be heard. It was hard to know where they stopped and where I began. I pushed the voice away, as I always did, holding on to whatever shred of self control I would like to have believed I held. There was no more time to contemplate the circus parading thru my own mind as Lucky walked straight towards me and sat down uninvited. I felt my jaw clench and forced myself to relax it. This was a powder keg waiting to be lite.
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John Doe
But self control only goes so far, and that voice was back. Telling, accusing, mesmerizing, "Sammy boy, I know what you did in that jungle. I seen the blood, and I know. You can't run from the blood Sammy boy. You can't run." And I started to get angry at Lucky. I could see that dumb look in his eyes, and that manacing snarl like he could hear the voice, and he was the voice, and I had to silence him.
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John Doe
bump
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snowbird
Just at that moment a horn began to blare with the shrill insistence of an alarm clock.
We all jumped and stared outside to see what in tarnation was happening. A slim Black lady wearing a tailored suit that stated money and class was leaning on the horn of a midnight Mercedes.
She shaded her eyes and peered into the dim interior. Then, she opened the door and a pair of shapely, carmel legs swung to the pavement. We all stared, mesmerized and temporarily speechless. We'd seen few Black people in our lifetime, and there was something about this lady that made us feel like standing at attention.