The Old Neighborhood

Tony was looking the same except for the thinning grey hair and his now seventy or so extra pounds.  An attempt at engaging him in a simple greeting didn’t work. He did not even acknowledge my existence by looking right past me.

I bought a large Watermelon Italian Ice for his consumption, telling him I knew it was his favorite from back in the day.

That jared his memory. I could see those wobbly wheels turning behind his suspiciously brown bloodshot eyes.

“Frankie...yea.....  from Lefrak (he pronounced it Leaf-Rack). Yea, Laura was your sister, Right?” He struggled to remember who I really was. “I used to sell her weed,” he laughingly continued, still searching his pea brain for a final conformation. I guess my appearance has changed dramatically, but then again, he always was a dumb fuck.

Tony continued thinking, as the melted Italian ice rolled south down from his toothless mouth along his double chin, landing on his already stained and undersized New York Mets tee shirt. Tony then rubbed his exposed hefty and hairy stomach sporting an outtie belly button and finally he completely remembered who I was.

That look of recognition, resembling a cartoon character with a lit light bulb shining over his head slowly encompassed his two day old stubbled and acne scared face.

About me

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. :)