Im my brothers brother
hes mine
and if the murder we almost
committedto be fair murders were left out neither of us might be able to wear either tag Good or Sin
if his brother killed that Harwood
Heights molochfuck on that bizarre South Pacific themed back porchwhaddafuck it
was Chicago at someones house it was a
partythey went to parties all the time without
a clue who lived at the house it was a
party thats the purpose of a
party but you get an inkling when youve
crossed some unseen linecrossed over into someone elses turf(still the best terminology) had his brother killed himran him through with
that tribal spear he snatched off the greenpainted faux grassmat wall we would haveI would havehe would have had to
dispatch his other three buddies too youd be
stupid to leave loose tongues common
sense Cagneys
Tom Powers Public Enemy wouldnt have
it began as a fair fight two on four
when youre incensed whos thinking oddsyou can only hear yourself called
a nigger so many times in a night before you take insultumbrage you wanna
correct them say youre Polacks not niggers that niggers would be insulted being
called Polacks Yamight wanna get your fuckin slander right Cunts
and why those two idiots preceded ahead of him down the back concrete steps into the black unlit yard with the third jamoke looseygoosey behind himtoo up in his headtoo fucking confident of their numbers was beyond him they werent a couplethree steps down out the back door when he hammered the one behind him in the nuts with his elbowthen snatching the handrails to either side reared up and stomped the one below him in the back of the headlegit combat boots steeltoed shank soles who dumpedhe believed unconscious into the one in front of him pitching them both headlong down the frosty concrete they made gruesome sounds as they floppeddescended
and why those two idiots preceded ahead of him down the back concrete steps into the black unlit yard with the third jamoke looseygoosey behind himtoo up in his headtoo fucking confident of their numbers was beyond him they werent a couplethree steps down out the back door when he hammered the one behind him in the nuts with his elbowthen snatching the handrails to either side reared up and stomped the one below him in the back of the headlegit combat boots steeltoed shank soles who dumpedhe believed unconscious into the one in front of him pitching them both headlong down the frosty concrete they made gruesome sounds as they floppeddescended
turning back up the stairshis brother was embroiled with the fuck on the backporch he stomped the jamoke who
was too concerned about his balls to protect his head then yanked him off his back and pitched him after
his buddies who were heapedwrithing on the apron below
the fight on the porch was
vicious he didnt know who picked up something
first to use it against the otherusually that was who was taking the brunt of
the beatingwho felt losing a fistfight was belittling hey someone wins someone loses theres no belittlement in thatyou hone your
game and come back for the next time ifyad like
the Harwood Heights kid swung
wildlysomething in his hand he missed lost his balance spun around and fell on
his face his back to his brother and in one stunning motion his brother snatched a
spear off the painted brickwallstraddled the kid and raised it over his headclutched
in both handsBOB!STOP! STOP! even as he screamed he wondered if his
brother would hear him from where he was in his headhis face distortedgrimacing
smeared in blooda fierce Maorian bugeyed curledtongue countenance Harwood Heights was worth only three
syllables his brother trembled
violently the kid wormed over onto his
back which might have been what saved
himhis brother could see his facesee his eyes
Harwood screamedflung his arms uparms useless against a thrust of steel his brother screamedspun left facing the wall
and hurled the spear lengthwise against it
before it ricocheted off the wall and clattered down onto the upset sofa
Hardwood crawled on his heels and elbows out from under his brother turned over
found his feet and sped to the backdoor
he stepped aside letting him flee Harwood
slipped on the concrete and flopped horribly between the brick
railingson the steps to the three bodies tremblingheaped below there had to be ugly wounds down there
he grabbed his brother who had
gone slackgone off somewhere in his head by his tattered flannel shirt he yanked him
back into the house and through it to escape out the front door between people
who were partyingstoned drunk too caught up in themselves to see them in the
low lightjust two guys pushing their way out and going through the darkened
doorway they didnt know them from Adam likewise
the party wasnt their best idea
2311, Saturday,
30 9. 17
1215, Sunday,
1 10. 17
Grand Funk Railroad Sin’s a Good Man’s Brother
