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What the Lino Says Back to Me at 3:00 AM
Overheard at Shemmie’s aka (There's Something in Your Bluebird)
Spee Ungle swore to me that he overheard elements of a conversation that would titillate and amuse. I was annoyed by the globs of sweat on his forehead as he informed, “I slept like a dog last night.”
He hoisted his pilsner to his lips as I provided a rejoinder. “You’re saying that you were sleeping all lonesome and afraid with a relentless hard-on. Cryssakes, Spee. I can remember when your words could still talk, and now you’ve come to this. It’s' log', not 'dog', you fuck. By the way, some passersby were heard saying things about you and the corsair.”
Spee pulled up some spine and opined with his breath and his lips and his pieces-of-corn teeth. All too close and rubbing up against he said,
“The corsair and the whispering mad-house effect, and then they tell ya that ya gotta go. She never thought. She never remembered my time in the whispering place. For the love of all that is holy, my mind allots too much time to itself. No thinking is better. Heart is better. Life will always chase itself like the puppy and her tail.”
I pulled hard into my toasted cheese on wheat and considered casket linings for the rich
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