Thirteen

[offthepigs]

A quart of rum and a bottle of cough medicine. That's all I needed to complete my night. What, with my charred turkey, it's skin crusty and black, and my usual sense of American pride. My hopes and dreams, and a little red typewriter with the words "Property of Fat City" painted on it's side. Is it stolen? The good Lord only knows. And I thank him

Comments

[suitcaseofnails]

I've been feeling rather generous these past couple of days, darling, so I'm sending you a little gift of various narcotics.

[offthepigs]

Greatly appreciated...but I'd prefer a doctor, at any point.

[suitcaseofnails]

A doctor? Mmkay, I think I know of a couple that could be talked into house calls.

[offthepigs]

Any specific experience with gunshot wounds is preferred.

[suitcaseofnails]

A gunshot, darling? Who did you get mad enough to shoot you?

Ah well, the doctors I know are quite used to bullet removal.

[offthepigs]

Some sorry fuck below me.

[suitcaseofnails]

The man must need a lot of practice if he can't aim at all.

I'll see if either of them are around and bring bring them over.

[offthepigs]

Thank you, my dear.

[suitcaseofnails]

You are welcome, Raoul.