Gangster Movies
I'm sitting on the shitter. It hurts. And it's all Danny's fault.
Let me say that again: I'm sitting on the fucking shitter and it fucking hurts and I want the pain to go away and it fucking won't.
This makes me want to take the gun from the bathroom counter and splatter my brains on the mirror.
Though, this isn't even the real problem.
The real problem is in the other room. The room around the corner, the living room, with that big couch that I got from my grandmother. The real problem is on that couch. He's lying there with his legs stretched out stiff and hard. His head is buried in my grandmother's pillows. His sweat staining my grandmother's flower upholstery. That's the real problem. He's ruining my grandmother's couch.
As long as I'm on the shitter, though, I can't deal with the real problem.
It feels like my stomach is crushing my intestines, my intestines are being pushed through my anus and they're ripping my anus apart like the jaws of life prying their way through metal.
That problem on my grandmother's couch, that problem is getting the last laugh. This is all his fault. What with his Indian food tastes, his pakoras, his chicken tandoori street vendor bullshit.
Discreet, Danny said, Don't make a mess, Danny said. Mother fucker, it feels like a vacuum is sucking out my guts.
I hear a thud. I hear a thud from the room around the corner. The room with him lying stiff on my grandmother's couch. I hear a thud and second guess the poison Danny gave me.
I hear, "Mother fucker." From the living room, I hear, "You're fuckin' dead."
My forehead is wet and my head is light and in my eyes I see spots like little supernovas on my retinas and my hands shake because of the jaws of life prying open my anus and it's ripping and it's fucking ripping apart and it hurts.
He staggers to the bathroom door. This giant of a man, his hand on the doorframe, propping himself up, his large, ape-like forehead leaning forward, dizzy from the poison.
Christ.
He slurs, "You're fuckin' dead."
Like a hose my insides are exploding and my stomach cramps and I hold my breath and my vision blurs and on the counter I spot the gun.
And so does he.
We lunge for it and there's a bang and he falls back and behind him the wall is painted red like a tie-dye T-shirt.
My pain stops. The jaws of life disappear. I take a breath and my vision clears.
His leg twitches.
"Looks like you're fuckin' dead."
Now, I need to go talk to Danny.
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So...I watched a lot of gangster movies this weekend. Which one is your favorite?
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