Arnie was a slime-bag I knew since '47.
Over some darts he told us that he had a daughter that liked to get raped.
We got him good and drunk, beat the shit outta him and drove his car back to his wife's place. The address was printed on the registration we located in the glove box.
I already felt like shit.
It was a white palace, glowing with anticipation. The walk up to the golden doors enticed two drunks to literally fall by the wayside, blacked out on the lawn. No one cared, noticed or pretended to give a shit as the golden door crept ever closer.
Sir Galahad and I pounded relentlessly on the front door and as we did so a voice encouraged us to come around back.
"Hey," the voice sounded, "we're grilling back here!"
There was no music back there & I didn't smell shit but male rage and the essence total defense.
As we backed away from the estate, leaving behind our fallen comrades, I could smell the sound of bagpipes & wooden bats itching to the sound of 'taps'.
It was the quietest ride home I've ever had in my life.
5.2.09
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