1. A Mime
Is A Terrible Thing
got time for a beer?"
needed to get back to the house. There wasn't much daylight
was expecting him home soon. He opened his mouth but the words
A few beers sounded damn good. He hadn't stepped into a
got laid off from the factory three months ago.
had a fifty dollar bill in his pocket, his pay for the five
Ralph brick up a chimney on Pine Avenue. Lora had all ready
the money for groceries. If he came home with forty dollars
on his breath, what could she say?
buy," Ralph added.
couldn't, Ralph. You've done enough for me with these side
no problem. I ain't up to drinking alone. Lora won't begrudge
few beers, will she? You earned it."
yeah she would.
"Well, it's up to you."
I say let's get drunk."
settled it. If Lora wanted to complain he stayed out late and
reeking of booze, to hell with her. He was with her uncle,
if it wasn't for Ralph's generosity, bringing Alex along on
have completed by himself, Alex and Lora would be sitting at
table right now wondering how to stretch his two hundred and
unemployment check and not starve or end up on the street.
the short ride in Ralph's battered Dodge work truck they must
ten taverns before Ralph pulled into the narrow parking lot of
cinder block building. The front of the building was just
to accommodate a door and a plate glass window lettered with
BAR AND GRILLE.
bar was flanked by a strip mall on one side and a gravestone
Cross Monuments, on the other. Virgin tombstones, available in
and ebony, were aligned like used cars on the healthy grass.
Avenue Holy Cross Cemetery stretched across a few dozen acres
course, except, here, all the holes were filled in and there
was no one
green slacks and plaid hats wandering about.
could think of cheerier places to drink.
thing he noticed walking into the bar, there were no women
men sat at the bar, surfing varying waves of drunkenness. The
unshaven bartender, Oswald, leaned over the mahogany talking
red-haired man sitting alone at the bend in the bar. Next to
was a bumper sticker reading MASTURBATION – IT'S CHEAPER
tavern itself boasted a western motif. Various cowboy style
from the paneled walls. Two trail worn saddles hung above the
was a cowboy hat, lasso, pair of shit-kickers complete with
guitar sans strings.
place was narrow enough to bust your head against the wall
over backward on your stool. Alex spotted a couple contours in
knee level where a few of the more thick-headed patrons had
clientele maintained a steady level of controlled
Protruding guts, distended livers, discolored eyes reflected
the mirror behind the liquor bottles, broken blood vessels.
They kept an
stool between each other.
steered Alex to the empty stools near the jukebox. "Whatcha
They got Old Style on draft."
was taken aback. "Miller? Jesus. My niece marry a poof?
and women drink that piss."
approached, grinning at Ralph's bit of wit. Seeing Oswald, it
to Alex why he might prefer masturbation over dating. Oswald
an over bite of Simpsonian proportions which his carefully
mustache only accentuated. He had a physique like a pregnant
can I get you fellas?"
Style draft and a bottle of High Life if you still sell those."
Life? Yeah we keep a few in reserve for the occasional Mexican
He winked and grinned a yap full of dentures. "You might
the dust off it."
fetched the beer, immediately getting sucked into a
an old man clutching today's sport's page.
and Alex drank from their beers. After a few awkward moments
Ralph peeled a dollar from the top of his roll and said "how
a couple songs in the juke. Some Bob Seger or something".
took his time at the jukebox. Keeping with the western
likes of Alan Jackson, Tobey Keith, and Kenny Chesney dominated
He settled on two George Thoroughgood songs and "House of
didn't comment on his choices. He glanced around the bar at
faces reflected in the mirror like knots in a plank of wood.
I had the extra money," he said, "we could've gone to
a titty flop.
is cool," Alex said without enthusiasm. He sipped his
tasted as though it'd been sitting on the shelf since the last
Cubbies won the World Series.
door swung open and a man entered the bar. His presence sucked
from the room. Even George Thoroughgood on the juke lowered
man wore a black derby hat, black slacks held up with black
black shoes, and a black and white vertically striped long
A yellow carnation, safety pinned to his shirt at a jaunty
to survey the room like a periscope. His face was smeared with
glanced up from his beer and followed Alex's gaze to the door.
dropped the gamey dishrag he'd been using to wipe down the bar
past six months into the sink.
"Oh shit," he
the door, a heavy set guy wearing a Cubs' cap set down his
and acknowledged the stranger. "What happened to you,
train leave you behind?"
giggles. There's something wrong here, Alex thought. The mime
his blackened lips stretching taut across his yellow teeth. He
Christ," the Cubs fan said turning away from the mime.
You might want to call Mountain View. We got another looney
"Joe, get away from that mime."
mime's eyes burned into Joe's skull. His smile widened. The
steps toward Joe. His eyes swept across his audience. One
hand crept into his pocket. He brought a finger to his lips in
motion. He withdrew a small mallet of the sort used to bust
glanced back at the mime, then back to the patrons, jutting a
his shoulders. Get a load of this guy.
mime lifted the Cubs hat off Joe's head and brought the mallet
vicious arc. The impact sounded like a ceramic bowl shattered
Joe stiffened, his eyes bugging out comically as though he'd
the Cubbies' closer give up a two run homer in the bottom of
inning to lose the game.
mime placed the ball cap back on his head, obscuring his eyes.
forward spilling his Budweiser across his Chicago Tribune.
mime turned to his audience. He held the mallet matted with
hair. He took two steps backward and disappeared out the door.
Through The Motions
spoke at once.
the hell was that about?"
that Frenchmen come from?"
men slowly descended from their bar stools like monkeys easing
their tree top berths after the jungle cat has passed. Eric
alive on the jukebox. Alex took a cringing gulp of his skunky
approached the fallen Cubs' fan. "You ok, Joe?"
didn't think Joe was ok by any stretch of the imagination.
Even if he
the conk on the head, he'd still be a Cubs' fan.
blood purpled the cap up to mid C. No, it wasn't looking good
Ninety eight years without winning a World Series and a
pulled the cap away revealing the depression in Joe's head.
from the impacted area doubling its alcohol content as it
with the spilt Budweiser.
face reddened and twisted. He balled the cap in his fist and
it across the bar as though he were a natural born White Sox
mimes," he seethed. "Ever since they opened that
School For Kinetic Expression in the strip mall I've been
with these silly no-talking bastards."
hate mimes." This coming from a red-haired man sitting
four stools down
Alex. "Who the fuck they think they are, coming into our
up our friend?"
on, Kelly," Oswald said. He brought up a Louisville
thick with duct tape, from behind the bar. He bounced the
against the mahogany, making Alex's beer jump. "I say we
to them. We'll see how well they pantomime their funeral
of the patrons echoed Oswald's sentiments. Alex glanced at
expressions of unease mirrored each other.
hate it for Joe and all," Alex whispered, "but I'm
thinking this ain't
nodded. "We'll go along with them til we get outside.
around back, hop in the truck and get the hell outta Dodge."
then Oswald was standing before them, the bat poised like a
T-shirt read MY DAD CAN BEAT UP YOUR MOM. Alex wondered how he
have missed it before. This guy was a walking billboard for
boys with us?"
we're with you."
eyes narrowed. "We can't let these tulip pushers get away
course not, Oswald."
namby pamby terrorists, you know. They don't even do
at that school. They just get these guys off the street no
They're a goddam risk to our national security and a threat to
given right to drink a beer unperturbed."
grabbed a fifth of Jack Daniels from its perch alongside a
liquor bottles. He took a slug and passed the bottle to Ralph.
shit goes down out there. Get close enough and brain him with
right fellas. You saw what that nancy boy did to Boozin Joe.
ever get to see the Cubbies win the World Series, now."
man wearing Liberty overalls and a blue and yellow flannel
White Sox cap. "Oswald, we ain't ever gonna get to see
the Cubbies win
may be, Taylor. But it won't be because some cock ass clown
the head with a tiny mallet."
patrons slurred their general agreement. Oswald launched
guys, let me get through here," Oswald said. He
negotiated his way to
door, stepping on toes, pushing aside the sardine packed
grape. "Grab anything that might make a good weapon."
and Ralph exchanged raised eyebrows.
got a gun in your truck?" Alex asked.
shook his head. "I'm ex-con. Can't get one registered."
I knew I should had you take me home."
ain't gonna help us now. We get out that door, we make a
for the truck. Hit whatever's in the way. Mime or drunk."
good to me."
took another slug of the whiskey. He spun the cap back on the
the JD back to weapon status. Alex lifted the old timey guitar
the wall. It wasn't very heavy and Alex didn't have much hope
at all adequate in a fight. Even with a mime.
opened the door and took a step back, his baseball bat raised.
happened. Oswald peeked out the door.
H. Christ," he said. "It's like a goddam gay pride
line of muttering drunks began to file out the door. Ralph and
until the entire cadre of drunks were vomited onto the glass
Alex found Oswald's description lacking. It wasn't a parade;
mimes near the Exxon gas station on the other side of Holy
pulled themselves along an imaginary rope toward the nine men
outside the Tombstone Bar and Grille. The burgundy, gray and
of unblemished granite glistened in the sun's failing light.
gravestones, mimes perched like circus crows.
mime who assisted Joe to that place where the Cubbies always
pennant, stood on the curb across the street from the bar. His
his meager chest in an exaggerated pose of defiance. Flanking
the biggest goddam mime Alex had ever seen. He stood at least
a good 280 lbs. The uber mime went shirtless. Black
his muscular torso. He held a massive twelve pound sledge
brought the bat to his shoulder. "The queer with the
mine. You guys take care of the others."
said "I'm going after the rope pullers. Who's with me?"
men mumbled their assent but no one made a move.
that leaves us with Supermime," Alex muttered.
with that. I reckon this is where we take our leave. I ain't
with these guys. Let's get you home."
faced Ralph. "I never thought I'd live to see the day
ran chickenshit from a bunch of goddam mimes."
a man dead in my bar who's kids will never get to go with him
Field and see Corey Patterson strike out with runners in
And it's not your fight?"
when they got a sledge hammer and we got a couple wobbly bar
ever get hit with a guitar? I have and I'm here to tell you
not feeling very comfortable with being used as a lynchpin for
cowardice, nonetheless took this opportunity to edge along the
of the tavern toward Ralph's Dodge. Seeing the vehicles
angles, Alex realized immediately every tire had been slashed.
caught his attention. Shadows elongated.
mimes broke cover from behind a beige Chevy pick-up. Alex
as apprentices given their blotchy make-up and splotches of
their black Kangol hats an inverse Dalmation cast.
we got mimes."
turned his attention to his truck and the mimes responsible for
hundred and fifty dollars worth of tire damage. "Sumbitch!"
that moment, the four mimes pulling themselves along the
the three mimes haunting Holy Cross Monuments rendezvoused and
attack, charging silently, like ninja ballerinas.
raised his bat above his head. "This one's for Boozin Joe
better man ever lifted a bottle!"
bar patrons closed ranks offering up their own hoarse battle
two apprentice mimes warily approached Ralph and Alex. Ralph,
of more bar fights than he'd care to admit, instinctively took
steps to Alex's left, out of reach of the guitar's swinging
apprentice mimes brandished matching Swiss Army knives which
like dogshit on a stick. The shorter of the duo mincing toward
have been feeling cocky. He had a corkscrew pulled out.
mime rushed head-on. Nothing fancy. Alex planted his right
the guitar by the neck. The guitar's body connected with the
sending his Kangol hat flying. Alex felt the impact all the
arm. Surprisingly, the guitar remained intact.
apprentice mime took three wobbling steps in three different
Alex helped along gravity by bringing the guitar down on the
centering the mime's slicked down hair.
found his JD bottle more serviceable as a liquor container than
His opponent wasn't fucking around, forsaking the corkscrew
Twice Ralph swung and twice the mime danced out of the way.
again and the bottle neck slipped from his fingers. The bottle
on the asphalt at the mime's feet. The mime's blue eyes
the anonymous, glacial expanse of his face. He lifted his
and brought his hand to his mouth to stifle a silent laugh.
came up behind him and busted him across the back of the neck.
splintered, the body sheering away from the fret board. The
eyes shuttered open in surprise. The blow pushed him forward
Ralph's oncoming fist. The punch pulped the mime's nose. The
of blood created a clown of the mime.
mime dropped like a sack of mortar mix. Ralph shook and flexed
as John Wayne had taught him to do in countless westerns. He
greasepaint smudged across his knuckles in disgust and wiped it
front of the Tombstone Bar and Grille, the mimes and drunks
dull thud and pops of kicks and punches was punctuated with the
baseball thwack of Oswald's bat connecting with cranium.
always a mime's skull. Oswald was a free swinger in the Sammy
swinging with all his might at anything even close to his
The participants of the battle appeared only as flashes of
sagging flesh riddled with broken capillaries. Denim and black
Bar stools and imaginary swords.
the truck. I'd just as soon walk home," Alex said.
was just about to agree when he lost consciousness.
uber mime who referred to himself as Bip during the rare
compelled to speak surveyed the suburban battlefield. He
hammer to shoulder and flexed his biceps, his triceps, every
in turn, admiring the freakish vascularity provided by legal
turned his attention away from the finely tuned vehicle of
was his body, glanced down at his aide, Bartman with that
poking out of his shirt, and returned his gaze to the rumble.
spotted Etienne taking a bar stool across the face and rag
ground. From his vantage, Bip couldn't tell if Etienne was
bodily injury or receiving it.
Jacque's case, there was no doubt. That uncultured jackass of
clocked Jacques in the side of the head hard enough to dislodge
mime's eye, a globular shooting star that could have been
from Bip's distance had its trajectory not been accompanied by
of "my eyeball! My eyeball!". Bip had never heard
Not vocally, anyway.
took a long stride forward. Bartman shadowed him. Bip
three steps sideways. Bartman parroted his moves.
said "leave the bartender to me".
gave the thumb's up, deftly bringing his dexterous fingers
an OK sign.
uber mime leaned forward executing a flawless "walking
pantomime. Bartman followed suit with a decent "strolling
noticed their advance immediately.
he muttered. He'd been hoping when the time came to go head to
head with the uber mime, he'd have a few more alcoholics
him up. As it was, only Kelly, Wally and Harvey remained
things weren't looking good for Wally. One mime pinned him by
to the cement and another mime jumped up and down on his solar
though Wally were a human trampoline.
had personally laid out four mimes with his clobbering stick.
pretty sure he might have connected with a few other heads as
uber mime and that sneaky little bastard with the tiny nut
across the street, slowed by what could only be a wind tunnel
upon Burnham Avenue.
Harvey," Oswald hissed. "Get back in the bar.
faded back to the tavern's entrance and almost stumbled over a
down in the doorway gathering his teeth from the bloody gruel
from his face.
fleeting wave of pity stayed Oswald's bat. Rather, he
mime in the ribs. The mime rolled over and offered his
impression of a
dog. Unimpressed with theatrics of the clothed variety, Oswald
him out one more kick to the yap before entering the bar.
close on his heels. Harvey stopped to dilly dally with the
hell out of Wally, so, unfortunately, Harvey got locked out of
at the end of the bar startled Oswald. More nancy boy mimes?
two nancy boy pacifists. Ralph and the Miller High Life kid.
like he'd taken a beating. Blood seeped from a laceration at
of his head. The kid attended to the wound with a dirty bar
pickaxe, the sort favored by gold prospectors back in the day,
bar within easy reach of the kid.
would have been asking too much, Alex knew, to have noticed the
before he had to face a horde of angry mimes.
kid, Ralph gonna be all right?"
Alex. And I don't think he's gonna be all right by a longshot.
a tire iron to the back of the head."
lolled his head in Oswald's direction. "Barkeep, a Miller
eyes didn't focus on Oswald's face or anything else for that
right pupil looked about twice the size of his left. But that
been Oswald's inebriated condition talking. A few beers, some
and his sense of perspective was the first player to go on the
Ralph, here you go." Rather than rummage for another
High Life that Ralph happened to despise anyway, Oswald cracked
and handed it to him. Ralph drank it without mention. This
Oswald's belief that Ralph would either die or have a bad
all was said and done.
rubbed a hand across his mouth, eyes moving but seeing nothing
of mimes and tombstones projected against the movie screen of
"Oswald, gimme the phone. We need an ambulance."
patted down his pockets. "I must've dropped my cell out
that's convenient. The bar don't have a phone?"
too many sweethearts calling their men here. Bad for
wondered what sort of sweethearts the sorry collection of
been lining the mahogany called their own. "You're
I had a phone don't you think I'd be calling the National
now? Where's your phone?"
have one. Can't afford it."
want of something better to do, Kelly took a step toward Boozin
and pressed two fingers against the side of his cold neck.
dead?" Oswald asked.
I reckon he is," Kelly allowed.
laid his blood slick bat on the mahogany. His finger ran along
crack in the barrel, a result from connecting with a thick head
may or may not have belonged to a mime. Shit. No perspective.
why Oswald tried to avoid basketball games and rumbles with
jump shots and accidental bats to the heads of fellow friends
Bad noise all around.
righted an upended stool and sat toward the middle of the bar
place. Oswald poured a triple Canadian Mist and waved away his
tried to drink his beer. Along with the shot to the skull, one
goddam mimes must have gouged a hole in his lip as well. Three
of every swig ended up in his lap.
turned away from Ralph drinking his beer like a simpleton.
going on here, Oswald? You got some goddam explaining to do."
rubbed his swollen belly. "What d'you mean?"
do I mean? I mean I wanna why my uncle-in-law takes me here
drinks and ends up with a busted head. I wanna know what's up
crazy ass mimes running around. That's what I mean."
the mimes." Oswald mechanically cracked a Coors and took
it kinda began innocently enough. I made up a few bumper
said MIMES SUCK COCK QUIETLY and put them all over their cars.
notice most mimes drive Volvos?"
mime came in here and killed Joe cause you put bumper stickers
no. That would be petty. Them clown bastards figured me for
quick. Mimes are a lot of things, but they ain't stupid. They
the following labor day weekend. That's when we usually have
Labor Day Tombstone Grille Out and barbecue the hell out of
those drama queens pick the same weekend to give some sorta
jerk performance right next to us. You know how hard it is to
fine barbecue when you got a dozen painted up jackasses twenty
pretending like they're all caught in glass cages?"
opened his mouth to prod Oswald for further information when a
against the door halted conversation. Even Ralph turned his
the front. Kelly grabbed his Canadian Mist and shifted another
away from the door.
blow shuddered the door, expanding the wood like gristly steak.
face appeared through the window. The neon Budweiser sign gave
features a garish red hue. His mouth pulled back into a black,
smile. He began placing his hands against the glass, moving
carefully against the window. He stopped just below the beer
the tiny hammer that had knocked Boozin Joe Bubala out of
and struck the glass. Spider web cracks spun away from the
pushed himself away from the bar and wobbled toward the
the tavern. "Gotta piss," he said.
inhaled through his cigarette. "Credit where credit's
are persistent fuckers."
thunder of the eighteen pound sledge meeting inch and a half
through Ralph's swollen mind, fueling the constant pressure
to splinter his cranium. Thoughts formed only to instantly
Instinctually, he knew he was in trouble. Fight or flight and
lethargy balanced on a fulcrum of agony. He opened his eyes
pain grew blades. He brought a tentative hand to the back of
the fissure of scalp beneath the lukewarm bar rag.
rung it out first," Alex muttered.
words held no meaning for Ralph. His own words oozed out like
cleaved trunk. "How's the chimney looking?"
shit," Oswald said. "He's Harry Carey after eight
Budweisers and seven
of losing baseball."
ignored the remark. He scooped up the pickaxe and held it
as he grabbed Ralph's bicep.
blow of the sledgehammer knocked a six inch gap in the door.
continued to beat on the window with his hammer opening a hole
of a fist.
stumbled off the bar stool and collided with the wall. He
the door. The uber mime pressed his face against the opening
through the door. Bip winked. Ralph launched his bottle of
solidly plunking Boozin Joe Bubala's corpse.
allowed a brief to escape his lips followed by Bartman's
Ralph bounce the beer bottle off Joe's shoulder, spraying cheap
over the place goaded Oswald into action. As the kid led his
uncle-in-law toward whatever safety he hoped to find among the
bottles and bags of crushed cans stacked in the rear of the
grabbed a fifth of Wild Turkey from among its confederates.
twisted off the pour spout with his teeth. A wick... His eyes
the Wrigley Field calendar. June's photograph offered a vista
confine's (friendly to the opposing team's line-up, that is)
ivy-covered brick, and bleachers packed with perennially
humanity. Oswald ripped June off the calendar and rolled it
a small telescope and jammed it into the bottle neck.
next rap shattered the front window sending jagged shards
inside. The mime brushed glass away from the bottom of the
His eyes locked with those of the bartender. Bartman pointed
bastard with one hand. He brought up his other hand and
his tongue mimicking a hangman's noose pulling taut. And then
himself, carefully, avoiding the busted glass.
flicked open his Zippo and lit the Molotov cocktail's wick. He
back and threw the bottle like a Kerry Wood fastball. The
against the wall directly above the mime's head, the fiery
his head and torso.
pitched forward landing against Boozin Joe Bubala, knocking the
to the floor. He almost lost his footing on the shifting
his arms, he managed to right himself. He stood there a
hesitant to move without Bip to back his play. Blue flame
his derby hat, down his striped shirt. The wood paneling
The flames roiled; the heavy smoke sucked out of the open
advanced on the mime, bat cocked back. The mime's reaction was
subdued. More put out than alarmed. He brought his arms out
his hands like a child threatened to get squirted with a water
encompassed his gloved hands. His jaw dropped. He looked
Oswald's face as the conflagration devoured the front wall of
Bar and Grille, driving Bip away from the door.
last words?" Oswald asked.
face beginning to blister, his yellow flower wilting, Bartman
head to the right, quizzically, perhaps, though who really
through the mind of a mime.
didn't think so."
swung down in an abbreviated arch, connecting with the mime's
strangled gargle tore loose from Bartman's lips. He brought
his hands up
his throat, his touch searing the skin. He slipped backward on
feet shooting up from under him like a vaudevillian slipping on
peel and the flames engulfed him.
Oswald dispatched, Alex looked for the back door he knew had to
behind the precariously piled returnable bottles and other bar
you reckon's the back door?" Alex asked.
didn't quite understand the question but decided to try
this," Alex said, placing the pickaxe in Ralph's hand.
nodded some more.
began pitching boxes behind him, the bottles clanging, some
rushed to the back of the bar to join them. On his way he
the bathroom door. "Kelly, let's go."
ain't going no where."
bar's on fire. C'mon."
opened the door slightly and poked his head out. The front
tavern was an inferno. Liquor bottles shattered in the heat.
fuckin mimes torched our bar?"
Kelly, those goddam mimes."
and Kelly joined Alex in tossing cases away from the backdoor.
stood against the ice machine, smiling haphazardly and
pelted with discarded Miller 24 pack boxes.
fire roared at their back like a jungle cat, licking at their
tongues of flame. The heat seared their lungs, the smoke
and burned their eyes. The last of the boxes dropped away.
the door knob and cracked the door open a foot.
made a move for the back alley but hesitated. "Ralph?"
Ralph stumbled forward, Kelly brushed past Alex and stepped
evening air. The eighteen pound sledge hammer caught Kelly
emptying his head of teeth. The lower half of his face shunted
the force of sledge crushed his top three vertebrae. Kelly
gravel, silently like a mime sucking cock.
stepped into the doorway and kicked the door open knocking
bottles onto Oswald. The uber mime squinted his eyes, able to
little in the tavern's smokey innards.
flopped and shuddered at his feet like a hooked fish. He
momentarily on the death throes and considered whether or not
deliver the coup de grace. Bip looked toward the door just in
catch sight of the swooping pickaxe. The rusty tip disappeared
and Bip wondered, only for an instant, when did he receive his
took a step back and wrenched the pickaxe from Bip's sternum.
matted with hair and blood, slipped from his fingers and
head before settling on the ground. The uber mime groaned,
stumbling steps into the alley.
brought a hand up to his wound, painting his fingers with dark
freakish vascularity assisted the blood flow.
raised the pickaxe for the death blow, but Oswald body checked
mime is mine," Oswald said.
dropped to a knee. The blood poured from him at an alarming
die here, he thought. Arguably the greatest pantomime
my generation and I'm gonna die behind a beer and shot dive.
How is that
stood over him, bat cocked, legs apart in a fair approximation
stance. "Heh, heh... any last words?"
For some reason, Oswald wasn't expecting that.
swung. Bip closed his eyes and thought of Paris. The bat's
just behind the mime's ear, knocking Bip into that white
in the sky where the Cubbies always win and mime's are treated
Tombstone Bar and Grille continued to burn. About two blocks
Oswald, Alex and Ralph were able to sprint before hitting the
their physical limitations. They stood there, hands on their
to breath as the flames lit the night sky. Ashes and charred
around them like confetti.
fuckin head's killin me," Ralph groaned.
shook his head. "That could have been me. Getting hit
instead of Kelly."
shrugged. "Hell with Kelly. He never tipped. Not even
he's a cheap bastard."
the mimes. Why? What's so important that they'd kill even at
of their own lives?"
no why," Oswald scoffed. "Mimes and drunks will
We're like oil and water, man. There's always gonna be
starting some shit. That's just the way it is. The way it'll
be." Oswald slapped Alex on the shoulder.
brain damage, kid. Just remember there'll always be three
of people in this world, heh heh, those who can count and those
with that piece of endlessly regurgitated humor, Oswald walked
the sidewalk, occasionally illuminated by the street lights