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A Picaro of Terrific Magnificence

apples peaches baby

At least the bed still works Emke, I yell to her from upstairs. The PennSprings mattress compresses with a weak willed screech under me, I think it'll hold us if you want to drag it along behind you. You'll be like some mordant of ghostless sex, guile, guile I tells yah.
So our Picaro continues to get by on his wits alone. Basically he's just a rotten mother fucker; a false construct prepossessed with an innately untruthful manner. While his story might be told in a plain spoken or really real quality it's his satire that's such an important element to the narrative. It's important to know that his behavior will always stop just short of criminality. That our picaro's carefree rascality will position him as sympathetic and untouched by any rules or false modesty. There's very little if any actual development inside this fucker; all of it's gone if it was ever there at all.
The house stinks. Iss like the bad eggs and the open mayonnaise they smells like an open beer fart. It lingers. There's a piece of brown paper taped to the refrigerator in here. It's got swatches and magazine cut outs glued to it so it looks like a rainbow. You know car batteries were a thing. You used to see them hanging from the Thoroughway up and down through the Widows. Hoodlums had their shenanigans by hanging these from light poles and such. They looked like lead bales; some sammich tossers great gray testicles got leached and left for dunking. This rainbow reminds me of that.
MomJean would come over and clean once in a while right?
Sure then Chuck finally ran her out. I was still pretty tiny. Do you remember that. We played back here all the time.
Under the porch and by the hedge. I remember we caught hell from Carl and Karl that time we burned the edges off the yard.
I nearly forgot.
In the front room beside the door is a brown wooden tinker style piano. Chuck said he found it in the rain one night. It's loud but I got it here for you, He wiped a heavy shirt tale across his soaked lid of a brow. It's a peculiar girl what doesn't want a tinker style piano, box or no, He said to her. When Emke continued to look confused he got frustrated and walked back into the kitchen. That's when Karl came out bare assed, smoking his rollemup and talking about pilfered equity and state side development.
His new girlfriend was on the couch behind me. She looked shy and a little resentful. For years I would think that Karl only liked dumb girls. It wasn't until I got older that I found out that he didn't like girls at all. He loathed them. He found them all to be confusing and utterly distasteful. At a dinner joint out near the potters field where he worked nights and weekends, Karl made a point of keeping a long tally of the things he hated most. At the top of the list underneath his own mothers name the list ended succinctly with one simple word, girls. It was spelled incorrectly and all of the letters were capitalized because it seemed more economical that way.
I went back down and found Emke looking for glassware in the kitchen. I remember that it was Christmas in April or just wet, I told her. Karl was showing me his list while we stood around by the big double dunk sink in back. He just finished washing his hands and out of the blue he asked about my fruit. Don't worry I know what you got, I imitated his intimidating lurch over.
Did he give you the feelie fingers? God I hated the feelie fingers. I think he got that from Chuck too.

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