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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.


       

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