You're Fired

I smiled and said: “Jimmy, look at it this way, years ago it took 10 hours to fly from New York to California, now it only takes four hours.” I just stood there silent and continued to smile, knowing my smart ass illogical logic would piss him off.

It did.

Fuck him.

Sgt. McVey shook his head in bewilderment, grabbed his coat and stormed out of the locker room, mumbling and grunting “This job is going to shit.” He headed out to meet his pals at the cop bar on Second Avenue to liquidly solidify and continue his buzz.

The nasty, shanty, donkey Irish drunk that he is.

That weekend midnight tour was jumping with the usual shit when things finally slowed down at around 3am. Soon after, a young, obnoxious and intoxicated male and female of the Caucasian persuasion (probably of Italian American descent) from New Jersey staggered into the station house.





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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. :)