Foxavier and Plinka - A Sample

I shrug. "Oh well."

He repeats, "Oh well, busted a nut."

I keep a stack of paper in the kitchen. I put down a few sheets and lay the chicken down to drain the grease.

Kitty keeps crying for chicken.

"Yes, baby. Yes, baby. Poor Missy. Poor, poor, Licky."

I say to Pretty Tony, "Are there any churches close by?"

"What am I supposed to do in a church?"

"Meet a good woman, with a job, and a car."

"Nah, man, a woman like that you need, at least, six bills a week. Two jobs."

I take a piece for Kitty, and throw it across the room. She goes after it, and claims possession by carrying it in her mouth to a comfortable spot.

"Can't you ask Pace Chitkin for more hours?"

"They already said I have all the hours I'm gonna get."

"Well what are you supposed to do?"

"I told you, two jobs. Six bills a week." He picks up the library book I have on my desk, and reads the title, "Operations Research, you're a smart muther." He laughs.

"I want to go back to school."

Pretty Tony says, "Me too. Microbiology. But I have to ease into it." He takes a sip of soda out of his big cup, hiding his face. "Besides, school costs money."

"You could get financial aid. You can get a book from the library, and study on your own."

"Nah. Put in a movie."

He wants me to put a XXX movie in, but I put in Dennis Rodman, which is a surprisingly good movie.

Kitty sits on Pretty Tony's lap, and his triangular hand pets her. The VCR is balanced on top of the TV with the cover removed. I stick a screwdriver in, while it's playing, and adjust the tape guides.

Pretty Tony says, "That's good enough. Damn."

I'm so used to watching a picture with static and double images, I don't even notice it.

Scufo plays guitar and sings and scores with the ladies.

Notice empty crack bag in hallway. Those guys are so stupid. It's like saying, "Hey police, over here." It's a cry for help.

Night. Finished the cheese too fast. A three pound bag should have lasted a whole family a month. Once I start, I'm obligated to finish. I say to myself over and over, "You don't need anymore, YOU FAT PIG," but it doesn't work. Every night for forty years. People work and save, have children and houses, and here I waste my life. Why don't I just stop eating? It's not that complicated. Every moron in the street who calls me Fatso knows that.