Skip to main content

Minsky's Pizza Ejects Homeless Person

Saturday Afternoon on 39th Street


The homeless person walked into Minksy’s, a navy blue collar pizza joint with an attached bar.  Rather than opting for food, the person led their dust cloud to the adjacent room and sat in the dimlit bar.
        “What’ll it be?”  Said the manager, Bob an overweight, jolly sort of looking fellow with glasses. 
        “Bud.”  The raspy voice sequestered.  Bob wiped a glass that didn’t really require his attention and then sauntered over to the other sid e of the bar, opened the cooler and popped the top off the beer rather than twisting.
        The homeless person, finished the beer in one swallow, not even a gulp to be heard. 
        “That’ll be $2.75.”  Bob said as he resumed polishing the glass.  Without hesitation the homeless person knocked the beer into the bar well and laughed.  There had been an insurgence of entertainment on 39th Street this week, it should have been evident to the shop owners that the looney bin hidden in the parking lot on 38th had made it’s monthly or bi-weekly releases, in fact, as Bob stood there through the murky panes of the windows he could see a man dancing like an Indian with a tie for a headdress.  However, Bob had no patience for entertainment at this precise moment, he was engulfed by rage.  Rage that only an empty shotglass and budlight can cure at the end of the day at the Irish (not so Irish owned by Mafia) bar down the street, unless, except for a completely irresponsible act on such rage. 
        Bob set the glass down abruptly and still holding the useless towel in hand he grabbed the homeless person by the collar and kicked at the shins shouting, “so that’s how you think you’re gonna act in my bar?”
        The raspy voice said, “Fuck you.” 
        “Oh fuck me?  Fuck me you say? Did you hear what he just had the nerve to say to me?”  Repetition of the demand continued with Bob’s rage as he smacked the homeless persons head, kicked the ass and scrambled out the door with the degenerate. 
        From behind the dark door his daytime helper yelled out, “Hey Bob, you want her purse?”
        “Purse?”  Bob said holding the homeless person by the collar.  Shit.  Purse.


       

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Gammoned

The shower was running, Parker could see steam come from underneath the door. She had to pee. “Sam, hurry up, I gotta pee.” “Just a minute.” The shower droned on. She went to the kitchen and smoked a cigarette. Her window faced the west. She was watching the traffic go by, inevitably from the beach or to the beach, on this warm day. The cigarette was out. She got up and changed shirts into a tank top.  She was done waiting for Sam to get out of the bathroom. “Sam! Goddamnit! I have to pee!” When he didn’t reply she pounded on the door. Nothing. Well, he’d been in there long enough to drown. She waited a few more minutes while smoking another cigarette. The urgency of needing to urinate won and she knocked on the door again.  Nothing. He had looked sweaty when he came over and the racing gloves in 80 degree weather was a little ridiculous for driving a 1970s BMW around, its alternator was out and he had to constantly rev the engine and use the brake at the ...
3 comments
Read more

Seymour the Fighter Fish

The betta fish has been flotsam for about a week now, maybe longer. I don’t know why I keep putting fish food in the goldfish bowl, but I do. It sinks to the bottom in rainbow colors till like all promises of nurture, disappears into the tiny rocks, pebbles, stepping stones of our aquarium filled lives. I rationalize that my fish was just another small import from Asia to fascinate the cubicle dwellers in envious color, a fad, a pet rock like fad. Just another way for us to house cockfights at our desk and think of it as humane, not a big deal, after all they’re just Siamese fighting fish. If I’d had two pit bulls I’m pretty sure I would’ve gotten fired sooner. Maybe I should have had two pit bulls, they’re expected to fight, kill kill kill. What’s the difference? I shouldn’t have exposed my gambling problem. I have an urge to dramatically pick up the goldfish bowl that houses the dead bloated body of Seymour the Siamese Fight Fish Champion and smash it in all his glory against the k...
2 comments
Read more

2020 Commencement Speech from Lola Nation

I want to thank the board of directors of whatever committee got together and sent me a formal invite to give this commencement speech on the graduating class here at your fine academy this year of 2020.   I don’t know if it’s like the Grammy’s, but the person you give the achievement award to, is not the person most deserving, or even first on the list but a fifth to tenth option that is elected upon after the more deserving and better suited performers politely decline, I did not decline, I accepted and here we are at the end of 2020 and you’re getting a speech from a person who was so smart, she went to an “online school”, in person.  (It was accredited!)   I completed all the credits to receive a bachelor’s degree in business management, but disputed a random administrative fee which placed a hold on my graduation ceremony and certificate and now, $150 and sixteen years later, my background report makes me sound like a liar and idiot to potential employers.   Reg...
1 comment
Read more