L’shana tova. May we all be inscribed in the book of life.
First off, birthday wishes to Fitz who is headed to SF. He will be
spending his birthday with Tuesday Night West. The nice part about
Tuesday West is that they are simul-cast with a three hour delay. So
Tuesday West does a happy hour while we go out late. Supposedly, they
are going to call Toledo… something to look forward to.
Second, I have put new photos up on tuesdaynight.org. Go to the
Overseen section and see what’s there. I haven’t scanned the deep fried
turkey pictures yet, so stay tuned.
Other than that, I’ll see you Tuesday at Toledo.
i
PS I just wrote the following piece. Lemmie know what you think.
So, Tuesday morning I woke among evil. It’s happened before and I’m
sure it will happen again.
But like I said, I woke among evil. I could tell. It wasn’t the dull
throbbing behind my eyes. It wasn’t really the ache in my gut that
tipped me off. It was the smell. There is no smell quite like a
Grey-side doctor’s office.
“Awake,” asked the doctor as I wheezed into consciousness.
“No.”
“Good,” he responded putting down the newspaper, “I hate to lose a
fare.”
“Just meat and money to you?” I asked.
“Yup. Just a fare.”
I had paid off my place. Covered my debts. And had found myself will
nothing particularly to do. Idle hands. Idle hands.
“You’re lucky.”
It certainly did not feel lucky. I’ve been shot before. You never feel
lucky waking up from being shot. You feel like shit. Simply, like
shit. And I, apparently, had been shot and was now waking up. Like
shit.
I coughed.
“Yup, very lucky,” the doctor continued, “I don’t get it. Ever time you
end up here it’s a frickin’ miracle. Like your vital organs just hop
out of the way when a bullet hits you. Maybe you’re made of jello or a
nasty fart that won’t go away. Someone somewhere must love you.”
I coughed. Oddly, I didn’t feel to talkative.
“Yup, no hydrostatic shock. No bone or organ damage. A slight tear in
the upper intestine, but nothing major. Damn lucky.”
I coughed again. It’s odd feeling like your insides are on fire. I’ve
felt that way before. It really hurts, but after a time… after a time
you get used to it.
“Am I covered?” I asked. I wondered if my employers had extended my
medical coverage. In the company I keep, health benefits were at a
minimum.
There was slight laugh from the door to the room. A gaunt figure leaned
like the dirty part of a shadow there.
“Covered?” I asked again.
Slim at the door nodded his head. I could barely make it out as I tried
to hold my head up. Seeing his nod, I put my head back on the pillow I
assumed to be both stained and threadbare. I chucked as best I could
with fireguts and passed out.
It was Tuesday afternoon when I awoke. Threw up a bit of blood. Sat
up, found my shoes, and checked out. It must have taken me a half an
hour to put on my shoes. Checking out was a bit easier once I found how
to stand. It always amazes me how fast people forget how to stand, how
to walk. I’ve been doing it for a while and I still have trouble
remembering some days.
I limped past the river, staying on the south side. I smelt like the
doctor’s pillow. Found a rickshaw near 50th and South River. Slumped
in and off we went. Amazing the doctor hadn’t gone through my coat; I
still had some cred on me, enough to go home, stop at a liquor store on
the way, get a bottle of something that would probably eat its way out
of the hole that recently developed in my gut, and tip the kid running
his heart out in front of me.
As I lay on my silk sheets, I wondered. About nothing in particular.
The usual before-bed and shot thoughts that one has. I hadn’t brushed
my teeth in a while. Need to pay paperboy. Who won the game last
night? The usual.
So Tuesday I awoke among evil. Maybe Wednesday I’ll wake up on the
beach.
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