A HEN AND A SCARLET BADGER
If I had to choose, if I needed but one
selection, I'd be lost. As it is, the
'so-many' factor of what I live has
kept me going. Though now that might
be over. ('My friends, the end is near
and now I face the final countdown').
-
That may have been Sinatra, that doyenne
of the criminal class, who sang of things
like that. It little matters now. Driving
that long car, I can see it here: At
speed, careening. Drunk. 'He drives
too weird for me; I'm getting out.'
-
Still choosing one? I'd go, 'A drunk
man is like a driving storm, all full
of nothing but destructive as hell.'
The little lady next to him, and the
bodyguard guy too, with the gun,
remain inside. They somehow leave
him there to shower the ground with
his pieces of wrecked car. Stranglers
in the night. The lady is a tramp.
He did it. His way.
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