they agreed
they did not like hyphensdid not like hyphenated words
anyet
he may have protested too loudly
found he owned miserable God-infected-and-fraught species
next time they met hed confess
but not retract
the species was
he wasnt
he slipped those nimble
cloying fingershad seen the rancid matter under their nails
he only suffered the dismal expressions
on his parents his relatives faces when they rose to take Communion and he did not
he thought Wha the fuck I came didnt I
oops
found he did it again tongue-in-cheek
oops anagain He-Who-Fucks-Fat-Women
his buddy John
Minnesota John
fellow carpenter
John rolled his own
bartenders would come up to them You
can’t do that in here.
John held up his DRUM tobacco paperpouch
bartender nodded
curious thing
they became fixtures in a few taverns in Johns neck of the woods
as fixtures John started rolling joints
they smoked them in dank corner booths that smelled of cigarette butts and spilled beer
fresh air in through open windows
the bartenders let them be
John liked his moniker for him
didnt take offence when he unveiled
it
Not shabby.
I haven’t said, but I am part Chippewa.
Which part
Not really sure. his
parents were killed in an automobile accident when he was two Though I’m known to say I’m a chipoff . . the
old block. Har.
Cute
Thanks.
so he only had to fessup to three hyphens
he could hardly wait to see how shed
react to Johns Indian name
1019, Monday,
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