Love and Murder in Checco's Diner

Insomniac: Hey, man, what—what’s the gun for? Hey, why the fuck’re you pointing it—

Me: Eat shit and die. Here’s one for you, too, pig. Shit, there she is at the corner—

* * *

Journal entry #4, Apt. 14C, the Bronx, Friday, 5:45 a.m.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  It was working out just right!  Everything was happening the right way.  Exactly as planned.  Let me think. Cassie makes the call, he leaves the house, heads out the door to find out who’s bangin’ his wife. She’s supposed to be there alone.

What went wrong? Why weren’t you there, you slut?  I go to the diner, maybe she left early. I couldn’t stand out there in the alley waiting for her. That cop boyfriend could come in any minute.  I go around back, see maybe did she come in that way. There’s the slob owner smoking, demands to know what I’m doing there. Threatens to call the cops. What choice did I have?

Then the diner.  I should have split. I just meant to look inside, then go. OK, I get a little anxious when the customer spots me.  Who wouldn’t? I lose my cool.  That shithead and his menu. The whore in the booth screaming for coffee.  Fuck you, Jack, there’s your menu!  Here’s some coffee, bitch!





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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. :)