Postcard from Chinguashi


Joey Mottolli began drinking seriously in Vietnam in 1967.  After he was discharged, he told people at O’Neal’s it quieted the static in his head.  O’Neal’s over by the East River had Guinness on tap and solace in its darkness.  Now, if he could only drown out the chants of the peaceniks screaming, “One two three four, we don’t want your fucking war.”

He wished he still had his grenades, but the army had removed them from his hold baggage before he boarded the flight home.

Two women entering O’Neal’s disturbed him with a flash of sunlight.

“So Susie had a problem with Dillon saying he truly loved her,” one said, the one wearing a T-shirt with Che Guevara’s picture over her boobs.  “She says to him, ‘No you don’t.  It’s infatuation maybe, or some psychic high from getting into my pants or elation at ejaculation.’”

“I like that,” the one with the butch haircut said.  “Elation from ejaculation.”

“Shut up, I’m telling the story,” said Che.  “Susie says Dillon insists, ‘No, I really do love you,’ and she says, ‘No you don’t or you’d ask me sometimes if I want to be on top.”





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