Saturday, August 28, 2010

1066. THIS COURTSHIP FALLS FLAT

THIS COURTSHIP
FALLS FLAT

Samantha Jackman feeling boxed in.
Twenty penny-whistles and an old tin
of Honduran cigars. I knew these guys
from a long time ago. Trouble was
brewing, but it all meant nothing at all.
The kid with the crayons had come down
the stairs; he was about ten and tried to
be happy. His father had prospered with
some bad union work, and now he wanted
a mate. The marriage of Heaven and Hell,
Mr. Blake, couldn't get worse than this.
Coffee was brought in, by the Turk, but
what these assholes wanted was beer.
'I haven't got any,' I said with a smirk.
('Samantha was just leaving, you jerk').

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