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Google Ads are gone, empty space remains, either Ads or none, the money is the same.
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"Edgy" is the feel I was looking for when I wrote this, but as a frequently failed poet/writer I know that more than likely I missed the mark. But I like it, and so here it is, warts and all.
Tap and The Plastic Bitch
Every time the bitch moved I hit her again, and that was the problem; she was tough, and mean, a real motherfucker in a fight, and I knew it, and she was letting this shit happen. Maybe she knew something I didn't.
I was turning slowly sober, and along with approaching sobriety came a companion wave of fear. This bitch was spooking me, with her dead eyes and slack jawed smile, and I was about to abandon any pretense of male outrage or valor, hit her once for luck then put the haul ass on. Then her friends arrived and bad things happened so quick I couldn't even unleash Cutter. I survived, but I wasn't happy, nor was I even close to being master of my own destiny.
A few minutes later the spasmodic, jerking pile of pain-wracked flesh laying on the dirty concrete was me, and the same crowd of doped up cretins who but moments ago were yelling "Kill the bitch, man! Just fuckin' kill the bitch!" were now hanging back, hoping to see her friends do the same to me.
There were three of them, big, tough, dressed in denims and leather, wearing big-assed boots. I knew the boots, 'cause they had just kicked the shit out of me. One was trying to bring the bitch around, his two henchmen watching the crowd, the darkened alley, and sparingly, me. They knew I wasn't going anywhere.
The jukebox thumped in the dive behind me, dingy light escaped the cracked door to bathe the scene in grim shades of dirty yellow and nauseous green.
Slap!
"Wake up, ya fuck'n little slut!"
Slap!
The other hand hit unresisting flesh and came away covered with the bitch's blood. Maybe I was wrong, maybe they weren't her friends. They didn't seem to like her anymore than I did. With me it was just business, and in this business shit was never like it looked. I'd made a buy, she had my money, and thinking I was too fucked up to catch it, the bitch tried to fade. But I'm in the same business she's in, and I'm still alive so that means I'm fucking good at it, so her little fade away into the dark trick didn't work. My only failing, and it's a biggy, is I consume about as much of my product as I sell, which causes the occasional glitch in my affairs.
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Google Ads are gone, empty space remains, either Ads or none, the money is the same.