Ol' numba 2 had already emptied the joint account, left me $20.00, took the car, her kids, and headed down the road. We are done! she said.
Sitting in that old rented duplex, I took stock of what she had left: my clothes, a black-n-white 13” tv, a few dishes, and a garage with my tools, and my Harley. I called some friends who were looking for a house, and after renting out three of the four bedrooms, I started feeling a little better about collecting rent and they moved in. I took the money, paid the rent, got my '68 Chevy pick-up running, bought plates, beer, and an 8-ball of crank.
The dope man was glad to see me again, so we snorted two lines gratis, see ya! With my new buzz, and case of beer, I headed home to sit in my garage. Plugging in the old “fridge” and storin' the beer, I sat on the couch...three beers to get that balance I like. I put the battery in my Hog, gassed it up, turned that “stroker” motor over with the kick starter, primed it, kicked it through. I got a whoomp, turning it over again, flicking the throttle, she fired off, filling that garage with exhaust noise. After she idled down, I rode her down the alley.
Turning around, I cranked it on in first gear, hitting second, I flew past my open garage. Turning around at the other end of the alley, I idled back as the kids and dogs were looking over their backyard fences. Barks and waves, I got thumbs up and a few middle fingers. I parked it in the yard, and looked for my garden hose.
Shirley- the girl who lived upstairs- came down. She had hung out with my wife, so she knew what the score was, nothing was said about wife's absence. I asked where's my hose? In the basement she said, I'll get it. After letting the bike cool, I sprayed the winter dust off her. She still had a shine to her old Chrome and flamed paint job. You want me to soap her down? Go ahead.
Shirley's husband had left her homeless. She had moved upstairs to take care of her invalid Dad. They were a talkative couple- what she didn't know, he did. As she soaped the bike down I sat in my lawn chair and swigged a few beers down. Feeling good, I invited her into the Garage. I laid out two lines of “blow” and handed Shirley a straw. Go ahead. I did another one and we sat on the couch. Getting me another beer, she said you're gettin low. Tomorrow's Sunday. Gimme your truck keys, I'll get you another case -my Dad wants his brandy fix anyhow. Having a mellow buzz, I said go for it.
After Shirley did the errand we pushed the bike in. Snortin' some more crank and having locked the garage, we sat on the lawn chairs listening to music. Shirley started questioning me.
“Can I ask how you hurt your leg?”
Feeling no pain, I answered her: “The war.”
“Did you get shot?”
“Yeah in the cheek of my ass. It took most of it off.”
“What off?” she said.
Wanting to end it, I said “my DICK!!! That's all you need to know!”
“Wow, now I know why your wife left.”
We sat in silence. I finished my beer and said “I'm going in.” As we got to my door, Shirley grabbed my hand.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Yeah, okay” I said. “Keep to your side of the bed.” Once between the sheets Shirley grabbed my hand and put it between her legs, hot and wet. I dragged her over to me, mounting and sliding into her. She screamed “Your DICK didn't get shot off! YOU LIED TO ME!!!” “You just had to find out!” I said.
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