Fat Charlie

Fat Charlie

Fat Charlie dreamed again that he was locked in a room full of old men with bleeding hammers and lamp lit virgins weaving human flesh into cages for spiders. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t remember how. He wanted run, but was afraid that he would float away.

When Fat Charlie woke he found that he was lying next to the railroad tracks again. Icarus was about to crushed by a speeding locomotive and all Charlie could think of was Carlyle and the great dead steam engine tearing through the night. Perhaps, the fat man thought, this is an existential question best left to better minds. He didn’t bother making a move until the train had flattened Daedelus’ boy. Then he began the long trudge back to town.

Somewhere on 35th street Charlie ran into that kid in the newsboy hat. The kid had been bothering Charlie about a job for weeks, and the fat man was really in no mood to deal with his pleadings.

Man, I’d do a bang up job, I swear.

Why the kid talked like that was a mystery that Charlie had no desire to solve.

Kid, I got no work for you. All I can offer you in way of a handout is a helping of angst and maybe a little loathing. Why don’t you get fucked, huh?

Charlie kept walking and the kid slanked away like a lobster on new years eve. Just around the corner Charlie stopped to fall into a bottomless pit of dread and sorrow. He paused there in the sodium arc-light for almost ten minutes, while whores sized him up and wondered if this ratty tweed fellow had enough money for a quick hand job in the alley. Mostly the concluded that, no, he was not worth their time. By the time Charlie collected enough inertia to move again he had decided to give up the numbers business and maybe move south, or to one of the islands.

He figured that he could give the daisies a chance, and maybe sell some Mary Kay to fill in the gaps. He started to whistle and never saw the kid coming. Fat Charlie breathed his last with a homemade shank sticking between his ribs and thoughts of a nut brown beach life floating just beyond his dreams.

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9 Comments

  1. that the whores didn’t even give him the time of the day was enough to make my gums seep gingivitis style in a good way.

    though, to be a listerine ass, collecting the inertia of standing still would make him stand still longer, so that kind of threw me, but sometimes, my mind can make me a minutiae little bitch.

    Like

    • I like this comment more than I can say. You have a good point. I may have to rethink this thing

      Like

      • I also just realized that there are like eight typos.

        I suck as a blogger

        Like

      • don’t rethink it too much. just sucks that “inertia” sounds a whole hell of a lot better than the physically correct “potential energy,” not to mention “potential energy” is just symbol face-smackery.

        overall though, good words strung altogether. this especially:

        “Man, I’d do a bang up job, I swear.
        Why the kid talked like that was a mystery that Charlie had no desire to solve.”

        and the lobster on new years hangs in my head.

        Like

      • thank you

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      • of course. while i type this, there is a preview for 2012 on. man, that looks like a pile of shit. good luck on the piece.

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  2. whos charlie

    Like

    • A fictional character

      Like

  3. Hi!
    How ar you?
    Do you know that I take it in the ass from wildebeasts?

    Like


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