mrzablowdowski

ya... i like candy... do you like candy?

Do not take candy from this man.
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A tenuous treaty exists separating squeegee nation and the lords of the white van. No quarter asked. No quarter given.

Its derivation is unclear. An origin that is certain to be deep in urban myth. A darker time in the history of decent working people.
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High Explosives

A cab slid by the glass wall of the chapel as the loop tape cued the ceremony. Ushered myself to a seat in the back.

Hurried hush of the carpet in the lobby foreshadowed the drama of the entrace. The lobby doors burst open to maximum effect.

My cousin. My aunt's son. Missing in action the last weeks. Here to pay his respect in a tattered currency.

A salvo from all sides as the family returned to battle a war not won. Rapid fire at the air. Your not. You can't. You won't. Why now? Why? Why? You! Voices exploded thoughts to fragments. The shrapnel ripped the last air of respect. And finally the crash of furniture.

His voice boomed. " Fuck you. I'm going to buy an eight ball down at the reserve." Last words. An end to the situation.