Saturday, December 24, 2005


So you tell me... could this rotation of the gyre get any stranger? I drifted in to a fast food joint this morning for a couple of egg/sausage/bisquits and the gal who waited on me at the drive through window wanted to chat. She was rail thin and had junkie written all over her. And she had four little tear drop tattoos down the left side of her face.

"So when is your old man getting out of the joint?" I asked, just making some conversation. You don't see many jailhouse tats in Imperial Polk County. I mean... where the fuck was I anyhow?

" He ain't. The dumb fucker capped a guy with a plastic shank in the bathroom there at Angola two years ago and he was shagged two weeks later by some of the guy's banger buddies."

"I guess that's reason enough to move to Florida."

"Yeah. But things are OK. Me and the kid got a pretty nice trailer out of the hurricane deal from FEMA." She handed me a grease stained brown paper bag that was harboring two bisquits and some leathery scrambled eggs. Some asshole behind me honked his pickup horn. Guess he was in a hurry to get back to his rented TV. The gal looked up and I could see the look of pure hatred that she shot at the goofy swamprat behind me... he subsided into silence.

"Well, hang in there girl. And.... Merry Christmas."

"Same to ya." She brushed at the blue tears with an unthinking hand. I noticed that she had a Outlaw property tat on the back of her hand. My kind of woman.

Ain't life grand?