(no subject)
Pete Limpelli made a few phone calls from his hotel room on Central Parkway. Back to Queens.
Into the phone, Pete would say things like; “Minchia, whatsamadda for you?”
Phone calls back to The Winged Tip Shoe always seemed to precipitate that sort of acrimonious discourse. Mooks always fucking things up. Clowns coming in there. Bodies messing up the back room. Kiwi Shoe glue stuck on the floor. The Winged Tip Shoe was a perennial source of hypertension and distain.
With his sepia toned sunglasses, Pete would cradle the phone in his hand. Sitting on the side of the bed. Placing his index finger over his nose as he yelled. Looking, from time to time, in the mirror. Gripping his toothpick in his teeth with a grimace. Pete was staying in the Cincinnati for another week or so, he would tell the mook on the other end. He needed the mook on the other end to order five cases of Sambuca. Did you get that? Minchia.
The Lake Me Naval Battle was slated to happen a biblical week from now. Up in Sorbonne. To mark the end of summer.
William Comparetto
© 2007
Into the phone, Pete would say things like; “Minchia, whatsamadda for you?”
Phone calls back to The Winged Tip Shoe always seemed to precipitate that sort of acrimonious discourse. Mooks always fucking things up. Clowns coming in there. Bodies messing up the back room. Kiwi Shoe glue stuck on the floor. The Winged Tip Shoe was a perennial source of hypertension and distain.
With his sepia toned sunglasses, Pete would cradle the phone in his hand. Sitting on the side of the bed. Placing his index finger over his nose as he yelled. Looking, from time to time, in the mirror. Gripping his toothpick in his teeth with a grimace. Pete was staying in the Cincinnati for another week or so, he would tell the mook on the other end. He needed the mook on the other end to order five cases of Sambuca. Did you get that? Minchia.
The Lake Me Naval Battle was slated to happen a biblical week from now. Up in Sorbonne. To mark the end of summer.
William Comparetto
© 2007