Love and Murder in Checco's Diner

She had that perfect translucent skin of real blondes once, but I’ve seen her scratching at her face—crank bugs, my guess.  In two years, her pert little tits will be aiming at her belly, which’ll be bigger than her ass; she’ll be a mercy fuck, and hubby will be long gone.  Her brats will wind up in a foster home.  Her old man’s an abuser, too, because she’s come in more than once sporting a black eye or wearing make-up to cover the purple grab marks on her triceps after he bounced her off the walls a couple times.

She sealed her fate when she spilled coffee on my crotch. The two customers I call the “Insomniac” and the “Whore” had a big laugh. I caught her wink at the hooker just after.  She heard me laugh at her. I’m going to kill her soon. I’m putting it in my journal.

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Journal entry #1: Crotona Apartments, No. 14C, 149th St., Bronx, Monday, 9:04 p.m.

I saw this movie once, some retro theater. Day of the Jackal. Not the remake with the Buddhist actor.  The original.  The guy plans to kill De Gaulle down to the most precise detail. It didn’t faze him he was going after the most carefully guarded public figure of his time.  A year later, Lee Harvey Oswald blew Kennedy’s brains out in Dallas.  The French would never have let their guy drive around in public in an open convertible.

It doesn’t take guts to kill with a high-powered rifle.  I intend to be up close and personal when it happens.  Look her in the face.

The Where and When are the easy bits.  The tougher question is this:  How do I make sure I get away with it?  Like the Jackal, I have to be prepared to move I’m ready, not a minute too soon or a minute too late.

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Journal entry #2, Tuesday, 4:52 p.m.

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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)