Latest posts by scotchnaut (see all)
- Your “‘Of Course I’m Pro-Bowel!’ -Adam Viniateri” Sunday Afternoon Free-for-all Open Thread – January 27, 2019
- Your “We Are All…, You Know The Drill” AFC Champagne-ship Game Open Thread – January 20, 2019
- Your “And Then There Were Only Three” NFC Champeenship Game Open Thread – January 20, 2019
To borrow from that Lightfoot song that everyone knows, in northern Ontario the winds of November come early. I use that to my advantage. Earlier in the spring I noticed a guy talking to himself by the corner store. I was waiting while my wife was playing her ‘special numbers’. I got out of my pickup, grabbed a twenty from my wallet and stretched the old legs. I walked up to him and said, “I think you need this” and handed over the bill. “I’ll buy some smokes”, was all he said.
Later that summer I spotted him at the entrance of the grocery store I frequent. Still babbling to no one in particular, still in the shabbiest of clothes. I called to him, ‘remember me?’. I think he nodded out of habit, maybe a bit annoyed about his external monologue being interrupted. I tossed him another 20. He looked at it and said, ‘yeah, yeah, yeah…’. It was a good sign that things weren’t getting any better for him.
As I say, November comes round and the little itch has turned into a pounding in my head. I drive by the bus station, the liquor store and the 7/11 on a regular basis. Nothing. You cultivate a crop with care and you expect that the harvest will be bountiful. Couple days later I spot him. He’s shivering under a lamp post downtown. “Hey dude, wanna warm up?” He recognizes me, for that I’m grateful. Makes things easier. He gets in the front seat and I tell him to open the glove compartment so he can have the cigarettes that I bought more than a few weeks ago for this occasion. He’s grateful. He smells just as bad as I thought he would. Maybe worse?
We both don’t talk much. He’s trying to get the feeling back in his toes and I’m wondering why the closed beach seems like the right place. “Ah fuck it” I think, and pull out the pistol and fire into his forehead. His head ricochets against the window, shattering it. Warm blood on my face feels really good. Hope I get back to the garage before anyone notices anything.
TO THE GAME!
Will Ursa Major or Ursa Minor show their visage ce soir ? The Hippo that we all know be hopin’ it’s the former. After all, there’s money on the line.
I want candy.