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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

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bad question

-- justice?
Oh, that bastard knew nothing, he said
when he squinted his eyes enough to hide
little bent lies in the smoke from his nasty
little newport menthol.

He turned away, and tripped over
a bouquet of pink alstroemeria,
purple lisianthus, white daisies, and other
soft blooms 

then kept walking as the thin moustached
hispanic man in blue plaid brown corduroys
let out, "¡Usted serpentea! ¡Pague por ésos! "
in a sharp canine howl.

a crumpled ten quieted him down
and he shoved the mess into brown
paper and handed it to me backwards,
"Gracias," i nodded.

I creep's obituary two days later
no mention of a bullet between the eyes
or who his friend was that snatched
the old lady's purse on Winter Street.

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