Clack Clang

Caparica Setubal, Villmergen Aargau and Billancourt Ile-de-France. He’s a mad cock, that one, gilded edges, epaulettes and knags heads, must have a bilks’ full of ‘em in his closet. Always one for the hello fader blest be thy mane, fucking blasphemous cunt he is. Hour fader coo art in haven mallow be thy game. …cad bastard, no three words about it. Quick with the plate, clack clang, a pocketful of God’s shillings, all smarmy, the brides skirt shimmied up to her armpits, sad sight indeed, awfully. I’d have it at him, the back of the skull, baby soft all kicked in… …for the love of it, awfully fucking awful…

That morning the man in the hat cooked a skillet-fried breakfast, bread-heels braised in skillet fat, onions, boiled, two runny eggs and ¼ of a pigs’ shoulder, and a cup of brown pail water culled from the rain barrel on the stoop outside his lean-to flap, and a hunk of farmers’ cheese. Picking up the morning news the man in the hat reads an advertisement for Pappy’s Spirit Gum, $ 27.50 per 1-liter bottle, postage extra. His eyesore eyes bloodshot, he places the now folded paper on the table next to his chair and sighs ‘…smarmy bastards…’.

On the transom over the door to the Greek Deli is a sign that reads, Olive Oil is God’s Oil, and beneath that a drawing of two dogs barking at a man, his pant’s leg torn clear off his cuff. The man in the hat has his suspicions that the owner of the Greek Deli sells dog meat, butcher’s paper soaked through with urine and blood. Hour fader who’s in haven… looking upwards up, the sky darker than yesterday’s death, he looks round his lean-to for a matchstick, his mouth forming a perfect O… ‘…shimmied up to her armpits, awfully fucking awful…’.