Poem In Celebration of Devendra's Conversion to Judaism

My buddy Devendra recently converted to Judaism and held a wonderful party to celebrate.  I wrote this as a toast to him and his lovely, Deb.

A lad named Devendra walked proudly alone

Through a town on the Pacific that he proudly called Home.

He was joyful and content, a faithful Agnostic

Who had a wit that was true and abundant and caustic.

His passion and delight came in dealing with sound

For TV and movies, until one day he found

That the same passion and delight began to swell and to fatten,

Caused by a woman who lived in midtown Manhattan. 

He had known her before and knew she was a catch.

They had worked together once on a show called Miss Match.

Time passed, and their paths crossed again.

He had dated her before and knew she was a 10,

But this time it was different; he was in a different place

And his body reacted strangely when he next saw her face. 

Suddenly he began to sweat,

Though the sun had long been set.

He wore a freshly-laundered shirt and yet

Now it was sticky and clingy and wet.

They walked toward each other and in the middle, they met.

His gaze locked with hers, eye to eye, and he let

His hand take hers.  Softly, in a tête-à-tête,

He said, "I'll bet

You feel the same as me.  But never fret,

Though we have no net,

We can fall together and I'll always get

You back on your feet."  He reached out to pet

Her hair and fix her barrette.

He saw his watch...and practically shet

His pants.  He cried, "I owe this guy Chet,

A Vietnam vet,

a spectacular debt

for sound equipment.  I gotta jet!"

And with that, he was gone.

(how's that for exhausting all possible rhymes, eh?)

Deb and Devendra began a bi-coastal fling

That soon was not a fling.  It was something

Greater.  More meaningful.  It was deeper.

And Devendra decided that here was a keeper. 

Opposites attract: Deb was a girl, Devendra a boy.

Deborah was Jewish, Devendra a goy. 

So he set out to know more about her culture and religion.

He found that it's a faith with very strong women

And he liked that.  He liked her confidence and her belief

And soon Judaism was floating through his mind like a leaf.

He thought, "Hey!  Maybe I should become a Jew!

I think it would impress her, and probably her parents, too!"

And, thus, Devendra began to study the Torah.

He developed a craving for latkes.  He bought a menorah.

He began to take classes and prepared to convert.

Deep in his heart he began to assert

His faith and love and respect for the practice.

He absorbed the religion like water in cactus.

Then the day came for him to meet her Mom and Dad.

It went pretty well, thanks to a glass of wine he had had.

When confronted with religion, Deb came to his aid.

She strove to uphold the groundwork they'd laid.

"Poppa, he's a good man, so please do not heckle!

Why, just recently, he had bris performed on his shmeckle!

He's an alrightnik, dear Bubeleh, he's sweet and is hamisch.

Just the other day, he ate a gefilte fish sandwich!

This man is no shlemiel, meshugeneh, or shnook.

Now look at his face!  How can you argue with that look?"

Her Poppa smiled and knew she was right. 

From that day forward, Devendra and Poppa were tight.

Momma said, "Look, I know this man is no mensch.

He's dated some shiksas, but never a wench.

He's got some gelt, doesn't seem to have shpilkes.

And without you, my dear, he doesn't have bubkis."

Her Momma smiled, for she knew he was not squalid.

From that day forward, Devendra and Momma were solid.

Now, a long-distance love is a difficult thing

And once, early on, he said, "maybe this is a fling?"

But his rabbi heard this and said,  "Such a woman!  And you with your luck!

Devendra, boychick, don't be a schmuck!"

But a schmuck he was not, as everyone knew.

His lessons continued and his affinity grew

For the religion and the culture it nourished and fed

And one Sunday night while studying in bed,

His computer rang (or whatever it is they do).

He answered his Skype to find Deb and his heart grew.

"Hi," he said.  "Hi," she said back. 

And deep into the night they yakked on their Macs. 

Won't you now raise your glass

And help me toast a man of class

Along with his beautiful lass.

Through that door, a finer couple have not passed. 

Here's to the celebration that has brought us together.

Here's to the Gods that have given us gorgeous weather.

Here's to the faith that, to one, is so new.

Here's to Devendra, one mighty fine Jew!

Mazel Tov!

The Gardens of Sorrow and Wonder

Here's a song what I wrote after my sister ceased:

Tell me, sweet soaring jay

What’s happened to that clear spring day

When children frisk together ‘round the lake

Through ages past our lives did course

Tomorrow swells with dense remorse

Of mem’ries forgotten while youth flowed with haste

Dreams we shared and mornings come

Saw pain we ached and suffered from

Round about in circles did we dance

Misty morns awakened to

Clouds of woe the sun burned through

Forever waltzing forward o’er the waving fields of chance

With noble heart and clear resolve

You ventured through the maze to solve

Ever weighted down by ken of cost

Each horror sheared with blazing sword

Yet one can’t stop a raging horde

And now, apart, we journey though our lives are lost

And the ash of your body true

Shall fall my fingers through

O’er the gardens of sorrow and wonder

Tears form with morning dew

Heavy hearts and minds accrue

We gathered and joined hands at river’s edge

All sights and sounds recall your grace

Loss engraves my granite face

I crawl inside the warm embrace of nature’s bed

Melancholy days abound

Chimes above the churchyard sound

Flowers spring eternal from the give

With anguish and all meaning spent

Shade begins its slow ascent

Lambs of blood inspire my soul to live

Let the pipes sing your joyous tune

As you sail beneath the swollen moon

And beasts of body float you right over

Water, earth, and thoughtful seed

The fairest friends my mind shall need

And I’ll walk my days a wand’ring rover

And the ash of your body true

Shall fall my fingers through

O’er the gardens of sorrow and wonder

Life Lessons IV: The Revenge

When you need to curse, shout out, "Aww, TITS!"  It's fun to say and can help alleviate pressure. 

If you play the drums or harmonica, then you should go away, unless you can play them well. 

Very few people are able to play the drums or harmonica well. 

Carry six-packs of bottled beer with your hand firmly holding the bottom; never use the handles.  Unless, of course, you want your carpet to forever reek of spilled malt and barley. 

When flying with an aggressive and angry cat, never put your hand by his carrier to reassure him that you're there and that he's safe.  He might just take that as an invitation to bite through your thumb, the little bastard.   

Keep the top of your refrigerator clean, for you never know when a very tall person will visit. 

If you are a man, try having an allergic reaction to an antibiotic.  The experience will let you know exactly what it's like to be a woman menstruating. 

If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around, does it make a sound?  Yes.  I've been there when it's happened, it made a thundering crash, and no one was around. 

When motioning to shoo a fly off the windshield, know that sometimes flies move slowly and you might end up with a deadly mess on that windshield. 

Know that sometimes a dog will be so excited to see you that they'll lose control of their bladder.  Same goes for small children and old people. 

If you have an adolescent son, you should consider giving him a few pointers in the fine art of masturbation, otherwise he might apply too much friction on his first go-round, resulting in his penis swelling to twice it's normal size.  This could, and this is pure speculation on my part, affect him adversely for the rest of his life. 

If you see the picture, stop what you're doing and take the photo. 

Learn how to drive a manual transmission, for you may be called upon by your residually-intoxicated sister to drive for two hours to your parents' house the morning after her college graduation party for an early afternoon celebratory luncheon.  If you don't know how to drive a stick shift, your poor, drunk sister may have to get you both there holding a large blue bowl in her lap to catch the impending cascade of last night's tequila mixed with barbecued meatballs.  This, of course, would not be fair to your sister. 

Be visionary. 

When driving on a road trip, if you've got the music cranked and the windows down and suddenly the music shakes your soul and you find the spirit is moving you to near euphoric levels, check to make sure the Highway Patrol isn't around, 'cause your spirit might be moving you to 110 miles an hour. 

When you discover the meaning of life, prepare to be enlightened into an awed silence for at least a couple of minutes. 

If you ever need a good lubricant, try scotch. 

Never drive behind anyone with a blue tag hanging from their rear-view mirror.  (It's like that lady I saw with no legs who got in a car and drove away.  It's an amazing thing to witness, you just don't want to drive behind her).

If you need to make a point while communicating, try a hand-written letter.  If you really need to drive that point home, write it in blood. 

Be warned that your family may disown you if you decide to call your two kittens Cuntball and Assfister. 

If you speak or write in English, keep in mind that many people – Americans included – don't understand English.

Something is not always better than nothing. 

The trickiest part of life, by far, is remembering all the names. 

There is no such thing as perfect, especially when it comes to people, but even more especially when it comes to relationships.   

If you have to drive while drunk, just make sure to get home really fast. 

It's best to get leather jackets out of your system early.  The sooner you do, the sooner you'll realize they're made solely for motorcyclists and assholes. 

If you are a thinker, inventor, or engineer and truly want to change the world by making it a better place, put aside your ideas for new sources of renewable energy or bombs that only do temporary damage.  Instead, see if you can come up with a silencer for leaf blowers. 

Gentlemen, please know that as soon as you marry her, she will proceed to pour heavy creams and sauces over your bank account and eat it.  And it will go straight to her ass. 

Never work a job where you have to address people as "sir" or "ma'am" because it's impossible to respect anyone who calls you "sir" or "ma'am."

If you are an actor, make sure to give your very best in every role you perform, no matter what the project.  The greatest line reading ever delivered was spoken by Michael Caine.  The line?  "Oh, shit!"  The movie?  Jaws 4: The Revenge.  BRILLIANT. 

If you want to understand life better, listen to the words of two people:  your Mother and Bob Dylan. 

If you're in first grade and your best friend comes running down the aisle, don't do a dumb and unexplainable thing like stick your leg out, because he might trip over it and might even fall and bust his lip wide open.  And that would prevent you from feeling good for the rest of your life. 

If you find the bicycle tire you've just stepped over is actually a baby rattlesnake, do not go back to take its picture.

Weird people shouldn't have children. 

If you're going to blow up a building for a TV show, make sure no one is working upstairs. 

Don't be sexist; women can be pricks, too. 

If you crap your pants, don't tell anybody until enough time has passed to make it funny. 

Compromise your integrity only if it will produce a good laugh. 

Matters that are important rarely work out as you'd like them to. 

If you're filming a TV show in Tijuana and the scene calls for a vegetable truck to slam into an SUV, make sure to have a good lockup of the set after every take, because the locals might raid the set to scoop up the fallen vegetables to take home for dinner and, by take three, you might have a vegetable truck without any vegetables on it.  

If you are a production assistant working on a TV show shooting in Tijuana and are relegated with the responsibility of locking up a set, make sure you know how to speak Spanish, because the locals may not know what "Get the hell outta there, ya nimrod!" means. 

If you don't have a tissue or a handkerchief handy, don't blow your nose in the street.  Please. 

Only do business with family or friends if you're completely willing to eventually wish death on them. 

If you are very tall, get used to concussions. 

Toupees are to men as falsies are to women. 

Beer is a magnificent means to help you sleep through three alarms. 

When you hit the age to choose your life's career, choose rock star. 

Play instruments. 

Forget a salary.  You'll always get paid more by the hour. 

Don't interrupt or talk over another person speaking unless you're trying to hold your own in a live, televised, Presidential debate.

Looking for genuine in Los Angeles is like looking for courteous in France. 

The most effective way to put a bullet into a wall is to try folding a fitted sheet while drunk. 

There are three things every American should see before they reach adolescence:  Mount Rushmore, the museums of Washington, D.C., and a live sex show with a mule.  

Even More Life Lessons

In trying to make someone else's life better, make sure not to make your own life worse. 

Do good things for people, because you never know when there will be a cash reward offered. 

If you're single, it is acceptable to scratch, spit on, and gouge those who wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. 

Statistically speaking, if you live in the greater Los Angeles area, chances are you're a douchebag. 

Beware truly creative souls, for they are a tortured species.  Especially beware creative souls that are funny, for they are the darkest of the lot. 

Never marry for money.  Or just to have kids or because you feel your "clock" ticking.  Definitely never marry for sex.  Or lust.  Never marry for prestige or happiness or even for companionship.  Never marry for love.  Come to think of it, just never marry. 

Protect your children.  Don't allow them to pursue careers in coal mining or show business. 

If you do something bad several dozen times, you might develop a reputation for it. 

Those who are picky are frequently disappointed. 

If you aren't getting enough sex, try expanding your options.  Go bi. 

Don't live with regret.  If Bill O'Reilly visits the set of the Fox TV show you work on, thrust the end of your boom pole into his testicles with great force and passion. 

Don't associate with those who say, "just kidding." 

God doesn't exist.  If he did, however, I think I'd like him, 'cause he'd have to be one sick fuck. 

If you're running late for work and are almost out the door when the phone rings and the Caller ID tells you it's Nature, take that call. 

Never behave in a manner that will cause you to become a popular Halloween costume. 

There are two things in this world that cannot be stopped:  a terminating cyborg and a chirping smoke detector.

If you lose your shit and seek professional help in getting it back together and are then told by the professional that you already have your shit together, consider finding a different shit-cleaner. 

Be wary of accepting life lessons from someone who hasn't experienced life. 

If ever you find your soul mate, your one true love, your passion embodied, then do everything in your power to keep the cunt from breaking up with you. 

Consider replacing a therapist who can't remember your name. 

There are two things you should never become attached to: a restaurant and a woman.  Chances are that neither will be around for long. 

If they wanted it perfect, they would've hired someone else. 

Always be The One Who Got Away. 

If you lose both your legs, don't let it discourage you from driving.  Or walking, for that matter. 

When middle-aged, homeless women tell you with great enthusiasm that they'd like to have your babies, smile and say, "thank you."

The most difficult aspect of love is that it requires two people.  Sometimes three.  

When taking a step after standing at rest for a moment, check to make sure your shoes haven't been zip-tied together by a mischievous friend. 

No matter how tired you are or how much pressure you're under or how much nourishment you haven't had after being on your feet for fifteen hours at work, avoid telling the boss to go fuck himself. 

Forget booze or drugs.  Allow the gorgeous and heartwarming aspects of the world to get you high. 

As you age, get better looking.

  

Watch for villains out to corrupt you, for they will rarely appear with horns and pitchfork. 

If a woman rolls her eyes and says she's not susceptible to the influence of a man with a guitar, she's lying. 

The only truly happy man is he who can say, "I have what I want" and "I want what I have."

If you are the type of businessman who undercharges and overpays, then yours is a good and honest soul.  You are, however, a horrible businessman. 

Don't put too high a value on money.  At its best, cash can only buy you things you don't need and get you laid. 

War is inherited.  It is entirely human.  It is the eighth deadly sin.  We can only hope that one day wars will be fought in a manner where no life is lost, only egos bruised.  Then perhaps the warring factions can sit down together over a beer at the end of the day rather than the end of the decade. 

Always retain hope that peace shall become less a notion of our imagination and more a product of our creation. 

Reward good service in a restaurant by overtipping.  If you think the server is cute, sign your name to the bill along with your phone number. 

If ever you find you've become lost, know that you can always find your way back by being true to yourself. 

If you drink a lot, try not drinking a lot. 

Bear the knowledge that you have but one chance to do it right. 

Always stand by your friends, even if your friends are wrong.  Or drunk. 

For every act of violence, there must be an ever greater act of beauty. 

War is the last bastion of fear in scoundrels. 

A true friend will point out your greatest flaws and encourage you to conquer them. 

Follow trends only if you want to be like everyone else. 

Put great merit in hand-written words. 

The key to making a good fire is to use plenty of kindling.  That, plus make sure it's untraceable.  

Life Lessons Continued

Don't expect a hot dog and Sprite to settle a nauseous tummy.  You might end up seeing it twice. 

If you see the most beautiful person you've ever seen, say "hello."

If you are headed out on a long trip and the weather calls for heavy rain, don't forget your raincoat. 

When cannonballing into a swimming pool, protect your testicles. 

If you witness people having sex in public, slow down to watch.  That's why they're doing it. 

If you are about to vomit in the presence of friends, make sure your words "don't watch this" are made quite clear.

When you discover that life makes a lick o' sense, embrace that moment. Then have a friend try to talk you down from the heavy drugs you've consumed.  

When strife enters your life, expect large bills from the dentist. 

No matter how long it's been since you've lived with them, it never gets any easier to say good-bye to your parents. 

Make sure all your friends are ugly.  Then you'll always be the best looking one in the room. 

A master craftsman never blames his toolssssssss.  Goddam computer!  Keys keep sticking!

Do your best to not know what's going on.  Then you can't get blamed for anything.

If asked to act in a self-mutilation training video, don't say yes. 

The only way to maintain your sanity is to go completely out of your mind. 

In textbooks, men are strong, yet nothing is more weak, vulnerable, or pathetic than a man in love. 

There are two gifts you can give that the recipient will forever remember:  something you created just for them or a rod of plutonium. 

Unless you have a sandpaper fetish, avoid sex on the beach. 

If something seems obvious, chances are it won't be to those who matter. 

While riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave, breathe, look, and remember. 

The only time we're not alone is when we're surrounded by live, nude girls. 

Always pause and consider the outcome before embedding your foot on a two-inch splinter.

Money will only buy the things you want, not the things you need.  Except, of course, for sex.  

What is now a burden of responsibility will usually turn out to be one of the finest things you've ever done. 

Always take advantage of a lazy Sunday afternoon. 

Recognize the obvious conclusion before drinking heavily on an ocean-going vessel during a hurricane. 

If you are a selfless giver, avoid the selfish takers. 

If you are a selfish taker, take full advantage of the selfless givers. 

Power is easy.  Just saddle people's fear and ride it to the bank. 

When on a family road trip your son tells you he has to go to the bathroom, think twice before telling him to "just use the cat's litter box there on the back seat."

If your kids are bored by church services, offer them a penny for every time the names "God," "Lord," "Christ," "Jesus," or "Mary" are mentioned.  It will keep them enthralled, and the scandal of bribery will stir the congregation out of its boredom, too. 

If your stomach is growling while waiting for your friend at the dentist and his Italian grandmother keeps insisting that you "have a piece of fruit...won't you have a piece of fruit?," be wary if you have a piece of that fruit.  It could be made out of wax, and the grandmother might be insane.  

If your friend's girlfriend starts putting the moves on after her boyfriend has passed out on his birthday, consider yourself flattered and LOOK THE OTHER WAY. 

Love is a shroud over the thinking mind. 

Never use a men's restroom next to a construction site between 8 and 10 A.M.  Just don't.

Be aggressive about getting the young 'n stupid out of your system, because the sooner it's out, the sooner you can get your shit together and be all growed up. 

Never turn down an opportunity to smoke with Willie. 

Beware cigarettes handed to you by Willie.  

Jump out of a plane at 13,000 feet with some guy strapped to your back.  Make sure he knows how to land properly.  Also make sure he's wearing a parachute. 

The trickiest part of playing the stock market is the buy low, sell high element. 

Attempt to understand the opposite sex only when you are fully prepared to have your brain melt. 

Never let something as silly as a speed bump slow you down. 

Don't brake for children.

If you don't like crowds, avoid two places:  Costco on a weekend and my bedroom. 

When making a left, beware speeding objects hidden behind large obstructions. 

If you're going to rear-end a car, make sure it's a taxi.  The driver won't care as much. 

Before eating cabbage, check it for packing staples. 

Write books for children.  Children dig it when you write books for them. 

Write poetry for chicks.  Chicks dig it when you write poetry for them. 

Outdo yourself. 

Never take money from Mommy and Daddy. 

When number two-ing in a public restroom, lock the door, because the person who walks in on you will never rid their memory of that image.

When practicing carpentry, remember that your most useful tool is a measuring tape.  Your second-most useful tool is an ambulance.     

Life Lessons

I started writing short, autobiographical statements that I call Life Lessons.  The idea is to collect at least 350 and publish them as a small book of humor.  Most are funny, some are simple statements, some are actually very heavy.  Here are the first fifty:

Never ski for the first time in the presence of someone you're trying to impress.

If nature calls violently while driving in the middle of nowhere, with no public facilities to be found, don't keep driving.  Pull over.

If you have to sneeze while suffering a nose bleed, have plastic sheeting at the ready. 

Always make an effort in regard to things that are important to you, like love or photography, but don't bother much with things that aren't important, like drapes or hygiene. 

If you're a very young child and are thrust before a camera onto the lap of a stranger who wears a bright red velvet suit complete with furry cuffs and nightcap and neck-crushing black boots and a horrifyingly immense white beard to hide his features, don't bother utilizing the muscle you've been learning to use that maintains bladder control.  It will make for a better photo. 

If the family dogs are fighting in a flurry of teeth and fur and saliva and blood, don't try to break them apart.  You could get your hand bitten through.  Instead, call your friends over and bet on who will win. 

Never commit a favor to a friend by saying you'll act in their thesis video project, then show up to the taping still smashed from the bottle of Jaegermeister you drank just a few hours earlier, your hair irrevocably mussed and your face still bearing the cross marks from the tile of the bathroom floor in the dorm where you passed out in a pool of your own vomit.  It will make you look bad, and your friend won't appreciate it much, either. 

Speak at your sister's wedding, but not at her funeral. 

If you ride Splash Mountain with a friend or a group of friends, take a towel.  If you ride it with a beautiful woman, take nothing. 

Never skinny dip in cold water in the presence of someone you're trying to impress. 

If your Mother points at a burner on the stove and says, "don't touch that," then don't touch it. 

Never poop in a public toilet.  Just don't. 

If you're very tall, avoid walking under low ceiling fans running on "high."

If you are a child and decide to decorate the new bathroom wallpaper with a red ink pen, make sure that you can run faster than your father. 

If you are a confident heterosexual, try to avoid falling in love with a confident homosexual. 

If you're working in Minnesota with your best friend and you find yourselves bored in the hotel one evening, don't order Debbie Does Dallas on Pay-Per-View.  It could get uncomfortable.  Besides, it might have all the good parts edited out anyway. 

If you're with a group of friends on a job in Berlin and the hotel TV allows you to preview the porn channel for two minutes before it automatically bills you for the full movie, make sure either you or your friends turn it off within those two minutes every time you preview it, because you could be charged for fifty-six adult movies at the end of a three-day stay. 

If you're a child and have a phobia of your pants falling down in public, don't wear three belts every day.  You'll never live it down. 

Always rely on the kindness of strangers and the indifference of loved ones. 

Only two things in life speak complete truth: children and alcohol. 

When someone tells you they love you, respond by saying, "Thanks, but I'd rather be feared."

If you're going to do it, do it right. 

When traveling to San Francisco for an all-day, outdoor music festival, don't let the overcast sky fool you.  Apply sunblock, because, without it, you could end up looking like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly. 

If you break up with someone after casually dating for a few months and they move into an apartment building directly across the street a week later, avoid them.  And buy a gun. 

Timing is everything.  Skill is nothing. 

Try not to fall in love with someone who just doesn't give a shit. 

If you don't suffer fools gladly, avoid working in the entertainment business.

If given the choice of working behind-the-scenes in either reality TV or porn, choose porn. 

If you lose your sense of humor, don't get upset.  Just try to laugh it off.

Don't assume that the employee working the fast food drive-through is a woman just because of a high, feminine voice. And definitely don't call him "ma'am."

You don't choose love, love chooses you.  Then it chooses to shit on you. 

Whenever possible, live vicariously through someone else.

If you throw a boxer shorts party, make sure to wear something under the boxers to prevent your tackle from falling out. 

If you are traveling a great distance to one particular spot, make sure that spot will be open when you get there. 

If you are living on the crumbs of hope and are starving, consider abandoning hope. 

Don't expect words to stop a child running. 

Don't expect words to stop a child screaming.

Don’t expect words to stop a child crying.

Never lose your cool and scream obscenities in the presence of someone you're trying to impress. 

Never walk out on a steep rooftop with someone you don't know.  It might upset your Mother. 

Try not to date people who are already in serious relationships, but if you do, expect a gunfight. 

Never break an object holding sentimental value to your date, especially on the first date. 

Never give advice if it isn't wanted.

Never coax a cat with sharp claws to climb up you.

If you hear coyotes singing, join the chorus. 

If you come across a skunk blocking your path, don't be in such a hurry to get by.

Don't get emotionally involved if, just before a first kiss, your date says, "I'm just going to end up hurting you."

If you've been drinking scotch with friends and find yourself standing in the bathroom over a toilet, make sure your penis has been freed completely from the confines of your trousers before releasing your bladder, otherwise you might have to pass your friends with wet pants as you make your way to the parking lot, and that would be embarrassing.  Even more embarrassing would be when you have to go back to the bar for your forgotten credit card and your friends ask where the hell you've been and what the hell happened to your trousers. 

 

If you are a child wanting toys for your birthday and have just been given a large winter coat instead, avoid saying, "clothes?  I hate clothes!"  You might find yourself pinned to the floor by a very irate Mother who suddenly wants to test the limits of her vocal chords.  

If you feel the urge to vomit and half your body is inside a car and half is in a parking lot, lean your head to the parking lot.

The Soil of a Thousand Years

            Downy earth and pinecones flowered the boy’s nostrils with piquant sweetness, and the impulse of youth beckoned him to stop and scratch his initials into a spongy pile of maple fruits with his walking stick.  His companion, the cat, as black as a moonless night, was impelled also by the nature of youth to spring into the seeds and make his own signature, a rampant flurry of swishes and whorls which sent many of the winged fruits sailing skyward then slowly down again as their angelic rotors twirled against the spring air.  The boy giggled and sat on his heels, peering down into the pile of seeds and leaves that now covered the cat, seeing nothing more than yellow eyes, black pupils set ablaze with playful madness.  He rose quickly in the spirit of the game and skipped further down the path, dragging the stick behind him to taunt the cat into giving chase, which he did.  The boy let loose an unrestrained squeal as his companion lurched forward and pawed the stick’s point until the moment settled again into calm and they continued their walk along the riverside. 

            “I like you, cat,” said the boy. 

            He remembered something once learned in school.  “Mrs. Warren read us a po’m.  It was by a man with a mustache and real skinny.  It was about a bird…naw, hang on.”  His memory jostled the pieces together.  “It was another story by the same fella about a cat.  Like you.”  He thrust his memory further.  “I think I’ll call you by his name.  His name was Ed.  But I like his other name better.  You’ll be Poe.”

            His lips crafted a smile and he was satisfied that they would be lifelong friends now that he had christened the cat with a name.  Poe wandered into the thicket of grass along the path and fell behind as he hurdled over fallen branches and maneuvered around stones and uneven ground.  The boy gained distance but slowed before he hiked too far ahead.  He ventured back only when Poe, transfixed, began batting at a Black Widow crawling over an arching blade of grass.

            “Chkt!  Chkt!”  The boy sucked air through his teeth to gain the cat’s attention.  “Naw, don’t mess with her, Poe!  She’ll take the light right outta your day!”  He waved his hand and patted his knee.  “C’mon, boy!  Come with me!”

            Poe leaped out of the tall grass and obediently followed, solidifying their companionship.  They had met only hours before, when the cat had found the napping boy under the great honey locust and raided his exposed kerchief of wild raspberries.  The boy was rescued from dreams by the sandpaper tongue of a stranger, stained with the juices of berries devoured, and was not upset to find his lunch gone despite his waking hunger.  He was a sucker for congenial animals as aging young women are suckers for the newborn babes of others, and his belly could be sated by any number of resources growing along his path, so he offered his fingers in friendship and was pleased to see the cat scrape them clean with his course tongue.  Poe had closed his eyes and purred comfortably as he worked and the boy was pleasantly distracted from the memory of dreams. 

            They approached a dock of slipshod craftsmanship jutting into the river’s flow and saw a young man balancing himself on the rickety boards, lowering a rusted pail and tape-sutured fishing pole into a rowboat.  The boy and his cat slowed their pace and the boy called out, “Ha’dy!”  The young man spun about on the dock, startled, and cried out when his bare foot received the jagged end of a splinter standing erect from a two-by-four.  He cursed and took hold of a crooked dock post to balance himself while he examined the wound. 

            The boy felt rotten that his simple greeting had caused such pain.  “Aww, Mister, I’m awful sorry.  Di’n’t mean to scare you like that!”  He took a step onto the dock and was welcomed with an ancient groan and a shift in alignment as the boards reacted to the new weight requesting support.  The rotten wood was precariously close to collapse, and the boy immediately retreated.  The young man must have known precisely where to step in order to avoid being thrown into the river. 

            The young man registered the words but did not look up.  He pulled the splinter, just shy of two inches in length, from the fleshy base of his foot and threw it into the water.  He then lowered his injured foot into the river to be cleansed, contorting his body slightly while carefully balancing against the post on the dock’s edge.  Only then did he raise his eyes to meet those of the boy, his glare swelling with contempt. 

            The boy was made frightened by the fire breathing at him and he turned to run.  “Sorry!” his conscience shouted at the young man’s disdain, and he was off, his feet padding swiftly against the powdered earth of the trail.  He ran tirelessly, swerving to avoid the many barriers of the forest and bounding over some, until his mind returned and his nerve cooled.  He slowed his pace to a skip and realized he had lost Poe in his flurry to escape.  Looking back, he saw nothing, and he became worried. 

            “Poe!” he hollered at the trees behind.  “You there, boy?”  Saying this, he became aware that he wasn’t rightly sure whether the cat was indeed a boy.  Sure he is, he thought.  He is because I want him to be. 

            The boy called out his name once more, then the muscles of his belly relaxed as the cat rounded a corner and ran to him.  The boy scooped him up and cradled him in his hug while the cat purred and fervently licked the sweat from his forehead.  “Ooh, Poe!” the boy said.  “I’m glad to see you, too.”

            As they continued along the path and allowed their hearts to settle, the boy felt a need to explain himself.  “I like people, don’t let that runnin’ fool you,” he said.  “It’s just sometime folks get weird an’ all, like they’s different from everybody else.”  They came upon a stick, thick and clean and straight.  The boy didn’t know where he had lost his old walking stick, probably sometime during the run, but he felt this would make a superior replacement.  He snatched it up and continued, “I seen folks do silly things, yessir, like they wasn’t people almost.  Like they wasn’t just like you an’ me.  I guess that’s what makes ‘em human, sure ‘nuff.” 

            Ahead, two squirrels scuttered across the path playfully and hugged the trunk of a leaning Mulberry.  In an instant, Poe crouched close to the ground, the fur on his back raised, his tail frantically brushing the pine behind him like an overworked metronome.  He approached the Mulberry as a hunter, his eyes never blinking nor leaving his prey.  The squirrels remained still and hung firmly to the base of the tree.  The boy saw what was happening and stopped. 

            “See, just like that, what you’re doing there.”  He wagged his finger at the squirrels.  “Why you gotta go after them critters?  What is it makes you do that?”  Poe paid his friend no mind and leaned back against his legs, his body rocking back and forth as his rear claws dug into the earth and prepared to pounce.  The boy thought to crack his stick against the ground to distract the cat and send a warning to the squirrels, but he thought better and decided to watch nature act. 

            The muscles in his legs sprung and Poe shot toward the tree like a round from a carbine.  The squirrels had little time to react and soon the cat had the cottonwood tail of one in his grasp.  The trapped squirrel bleated fiercely in protest yet held steadfast to the trunk.  Poe freed a paw and swung it three times in rapid succession, hitting the squirrel in the side.  His mouth was open and ready to strike, ears pinned back to his head.  The other squirrel appeared from around the trunk of the tree, its claws loudly scraping the bark as it charged at Poe.  It was enough distraction to allow the cat’s prey to escape and scurry with his companion far up the tree until they were hidden by a multitude of broad branches and leaves.  Undaunted, Poe’s claws dug into the pockmarked bark and attempted to lift his body up in pursuit.  He managed to climb several inches along the leaning tree before physics played against him and failure dawned.  He hung to the side, stuck, caught between humility and shame, and exhaled loudly. 

            His friend was there, lifting his body up gently to relieve the pressure from his claws until they disjoined from the bark, then he was lying comfortably in the arms of the boy, his disheveled fur being smoothed down by light caresses.  “That’s okay, Poe,” said the boy.  “You done great.  Fought just like a pro.”

            He kissed the cat’s forehead and relished the sound of the polyphonic purr as it crept slowly from the music box of Poe’s affection.  

            Later, as the sun loomed over the treetops and threatened darkness, the pair stopped while the boy crouched by the river and gathered water in his cupped hands.  He offered it first to the cat and Poe lapped it down, his tongue lashing and curling and back again, three licks, pause, four licks, pause, until he was nourished.  Then the boy took some for himself, four handfuls, washing down his supper of apples, and they continued their walk. 

            “Where would you like to go, kitty?” asked the boy.  “Of all the places you ever knew, where would you best like to visit?  I guess I should say, of all the places you ever been to, where’d you like to go back?  I don’ suppose you know of places you haven’t been.”  Or maybe he did, thought the boy.  He didn’t know what went on in the mind of a cat and was not prepared to assume. 

            “I always wanted to go to Californ’a.  Mrs. Warren said they had gold there and that folks just went there and picked it right up outta the ground.  Holy handbaskets, can you believe it?  They just find it lyin’ around in the hills, and nobody there to say they had to give it back.”  The boy grinned at the notion.  “You could shine it up and keep a pocketful an’ take it into town an’ buy whatever you want and never have to worry ‘bout nothin’!  And folks would leave you alone an’ not bother you one bit…they’d like you no matter who you were.  Yeah, I wanna go to Californ’a, yessir-ee.  We’ll make it someday, you watch.  You an’ me.” 

            Running footsteps approached from the path behind, and the boy looked back to see five young men jogging along.  The boy picked Poe up and stepped aside to let them pass. 

            As they neared, the group of young men started hooting and hollering, jumping and skipping, until they came upon the boy and his cat and stopped.  They panted and walked in circles while their hearts recovered.  They seemed quite rambunctious and one of them shouted, possibly louder than intended, “Found you, boy!”

            The others echoed his sentiment with shouts and whoops.

            The boy recognized one of them as the young man from the dock.  “Say, it’s you!” he said.  “Mister, I sure am sorry about spooking you earlier on—“

            “You’re the one who’s spooked, boy!” came the reply.  The others laughed, their faces beaming with excitement. 

            The boy was confused and felt uneasy.  He held Poe tighter.  “You fellers want a apple?”  He reached for his pocket.  “I got a extra one here—“

            “Shut your mouth, nigger!” said a tall one.

            “Boy, you got a knife to cut that apple?” said another one with choppy, uneven hair. 

            The boy began to tremble.  He couldn’t help it.  He shook his head and said, “I just eat ‘em whole.”

            “Well hang on, I think I might have one for you!”  The young man patted down the pockets of his coveralls.  “Fellas, I ain’t seem to got mine on me.  Any you got a knife on ‘ya?” 

            The others danced and sang at the invitation.  They were riled, sure enough.  A redheaded boy with freckles over his nose drew a folding blade from his chest pocket and opened it. 

            “Sure, I got one!”  He handed it to the one from the dock. 

            “Jus’ look at ‘em, a nigger boy and his nigger cat!”  The group really howled at that one.

            The boy fought to find his voice, and finally he said, “Really, I din’ mean for you to get that wood in your foot.  We passed by some blackberry bushes a little while back, I can go get some for you fellas an’ bring ‘em back!”  He said it with great earnest.  He thought that abandoning his walking stick to the ground would also appear to be an act of goodwill, so he did.

            The young man from the dock slapped the shoulder of his tall friend.  “Get me som’a that rope, would’ja?”  The tall one reached in a knapsack hanging across his chest and pulled out a cord of hemp.  The redhead handed over the pocketknife and he cut a piece off and handed it over. 

            “Hold ‘im,” said the one from the dock. 

            Three of them crowded the boy and took his arms.  The redhead grabbed Poe by the scruff of his neck and yanked him from the boy’s grasp as the other two pulled the boy’s hands back.  Poe madly twisted his head around in a futile attempt to bite the offending hand.  The claws of his flailing right paw did make contact with the young man’s arm and dug deep into the flesh.  The redhead reacted and let go his grasp, and Poe’s weight brought him down, his buried claws dragging thick red cuts through the arm of his attacker until the cat fell to the ground.  The wounded young man cried in pain and kicked at Poe and missed.  Poe countered by wrapping his claws around the young man’s ankles and sinking his teeth into the soft tissue around his heel.  Again, the redhead cried out and kicked the cat, this time sending Poe flying into a cluster of palmetto plants across the path.

            Hurt, Poe did not return to attack.  He sat, hidden by the leaves, and watched. 

            Two held the boy’s hands back and the young man from the dock tied them with enthusiasm enough to cut off the flow of blood.  The boy looked pleadingly at the redhead, whose arm was dripping blood onto the ground. 

            “Please, Mister,” said the boy, his eyes hurt and leaking water, “don’ hurt my friend.  He was only tryin’ to help me.  He di’n mean nothin’.”  He looked around to the young man from the dock.  “You can do what you will with me, but don’ hurt my cat.  Please.”

            The one from the dock snapped his fingers and waved to his tall friend, who came over and handed him the full cord of rope.  The others took the signal and became quiet.  Working expertly, they soon had the rope tied in a knot around the boy’s neck.  The fifth young man, who had remained silent throughout, stood passively close and watched. 

            The one with the choppy hair grabbed the loose end of the rope and wrapped it around his knuckles.  The tall one joined him as the redhead and the young man from the dock raised the boy and carried him to the river’s edge.  The boy did not protest, for he knew it was futile. 

            They threw the boy into the river and the tide carried him until the rope pulled taught.  He had never learned to swim and bounced gracelessly through the flow.  The cool evening water did little to soothe the rope’s burning hold. 

            Poe darted out from under the brush and went to the river.  He hesitated, putting his paw out to test the water.  The redheaded young man bent over and grabbed Poe with both hands and threw him roughly in.  Poe submerged for a moment, then managed to get his head above water and soon had been carried by the gentle current to the boy, who still flapped awkwardly against the tide. 

            Poe’s paw found the boy’s hand and for an instant they touched, until the river carried the cat away and the two friends were together no more.  

The Cost of Living

This was initially a stand-alone short story, but it turned out to be the impetus for the novel I'm working on now.  It was to be the first chapter of the book, but I had to chuck it since it doesn't fit in with the new structure of the novel.  Also, I changed the writing style and the character of Mac has now evolved into something else.  But here it is in its initial form:

            Mac Malone was moving his bowels with considerable difficulty when he realized it was over.  A great sense of despair overtook him with such disturbance that he was temporarily distracted from the physical pain caused by mutton sandwiches consumed the previous afternoon.  All of the decisions he had made in his life, every action and reaction executed, every opinion cultivated, had been driven by the one motivator which commonly tripped men into their graves.  He was awed by the discovery.  He had achieved his current status as the most learned and vocal and corpulently opinionated of all those he knew as a result of his pursuit of the Almighty, that cursed strand which manipulated his body and mind to drink from the pool of excess.  Fear, the ruling power in the kingdom of man, was a lesser spur in his belly than this wretched obsession that impelled his every move.  With optimistic despondency, he concluded that only one drastic action could relieve him of the terrible weight crippling his soul.

            His emotional burden must be destroyed. 

            He had to throw it away. 

            His life        must           end.

            Mac finished his business briskly, yanked his trousers to his waist, and ran out of the alley toward the Eden Quay.  

            Kooky Cullen met him as he turned the corner onto the sidewalk and nearly knocked him to the concrete.  “Whoa there, me boy!” he exclaimed as his arms grabbed Mac’s shoulders and interrupted his movement.  “Now what’s got into you?  Looks like you’re on the lam or somethin’!  Cops after ye?”

            Mac’s patience had gone to tea, yet he did his best to maintain the image of calm and confidence which draped men of his stature.  “For your knowledge and only yours, Kook, I am on a mission!  No time to explain now, for duty calls!  But rest assured; you shall know what I have done when every man under the fair city’s moonlight stops to speak of it tonight.  Now unhand me, old friend, for I have a fire burning within me and it begs to be given water!”  He quietly attempted to escape Kooky’s grasp and continue his final journey, but old Kooky Cullen had been a professional boxer in his prime and age had done little to diminish his scrapper’s strength.  He tightened his grasp on Mac’s shoulders and inquired further.

            “What do you speak of, lad?” he asked, breathing heavy whiskey into Mac’s face.  “You got the skitters again, is that it?  Why don’t you go back in the alley there and finish it off?”

            Mac’s desire to flee was overcome by his need to set his history right.  “It’s not my movements I’m talking about, man!  It’s something bigger than that!” 

            “Bigger than your movements?  God a-Mighty!”  Kooky’s eyes swelled with visions and his grip absently kneaded bruises into Mac’s arms. 

            “Look,” Mac pleaded, “unhand me and I’ll tell you the rest.  Please, friend!”

            Kooky’s visions melted and sensation returned to his hands.  “Oh, dear.”  He freed Mac.  “Didn’t hurt you there, did I, son?”

            “I’ve had a…a revelation, understand?  It has hit me something fierce, and I can see no other cure than what I go now to do.”

            Kooky’s watery eyes floated over Mac’s features and he said enthusiastically,  “Can I help?”

            Mac smiled.  “You can, dear Kooky Cullen.  Do you recall the words you spoke at my poor Father’s wake?  I hope you’ll raise your glass tomorrow and drink a toast to both me and my departed spirit with as much aplomb and vigor as you did that dark summer day.”

            Slowly, Kooky’s mind performed the math necessary to make head and tail out of what was being presented him.  His eyes inflated with understanding.  “Me boy, me boy!  Your news astounds me!  However, I am not fool enough to calm ye with words, for I believe that no words can change a settled mind.  What I will do, friend, is shake your hand and wish you success in your endeavor.  May your soul be safe in Heaven before the Devil wakes!”

            Mac placed his free hand over Kooky’s to calm his crushing handshake.  “No need for that, but I will thank you for the sentiment and say cheery-bye!  Must run!”  With that, he broke free of Kooky’s grasp and continued his jog toward the beckoning waters.   

            Sweet Emily Moore stood at a different corner each day, selling the basket of vegetables she had nicked the previous night from various local gardens and making reservations for her work in the late evening.  Often times she found herself with little rest, as she was a hard-working lass and had never yet turned down a gentleman.  After thirty-six years, her face was kept vibrant and beautiful by an ages-old secret known by many yet practiced by few, and it was this beauty which kept her appointment book full, for certainly it was due not to her colorful vocabulary nor her aberrant demeanor. 

            Mac was jostling his way around the midday crowd when Sweet Emily Moore spotted him and called out.  He grinned at her the way a schoolboy grins at his lovely schoolmarm, then waved and continued on until her shout obstructed his path. 

            “’Ay there, Michael Malone!  Don’t you run past here without stopping to greet a lady!” 

            Feeling obligated and not without a yearning for one farewell kiss, Mac dodged through a swarm of pedestrians and landed at Sweet Emily Moore’s side.  She took a close look at him and spoke in a hushed tone.  “Great God and Baby Jesus, you look somethin’ awful!  You’re sweating like a blasphemous field hand and – for obscenity’s sake – you reek of a copper’s bollix at the end of a hot summer’s day!  Get downwind ‘a me, and quick!”

            Mac wiped his face on his coatsleeve and pushed his hair back from his forehead.  “I’ll not be listenin’ to you if all you got to say is harsh words, Sweet Emily Moore.  I have very important business that needs tending and I can’t rightly stand here and accept arrows from the bow of your lips.  But sweet lips they are, and I ask if only you grant me one final touch of them before I go to do what I must.”  He puckered his own lips and drew near.

            Sweet Emily Moore smacked his mouth three times – pack!pack!pack!  --  and said, “Get away, heathen!  You go to Kate Flanaghan’s bathhouse and clean up, then come and see me!  For the sake of the Pope Father’s blessed movement, why can’t you men hold yourselves in reserve around a lady?”  She wiped her open hand on her skirt and took a step back.  “But tell me, now, what’s this business that’s so important and strips you of your manners?”

            Mac straightened his coat proudly and proclaimed his intent.  “It is nobility and morality which drives me to fate, my dear.  I am off to the Liffey to end my life as we know it.  And I’ll thank you very kindly to offer me your salutation and present me with a kiss to help ward off those spirits that wish me harm along my way.”  He again offered his warm mouth to be received.

            Pack!Pack!Pack! 

            Mac pulled his head back sharply and rubbed his swelling lips. 

            Sweet Emily Moore was horrified.  “You dirty louse!  I cannot believe you’re going to leave me alone in this wretched world to fend for meself!  One of my best and most loyal, you are!  Haven’t I given you everything you ever asked, within reason?  Didn’t I take you into my dwelling when the cold wind blew?  Surely you cannot forget how I pinched Constable Dewey’s boots to cover your own filthy toes!  Heathen!  You will not leave me, you hear?  You cannot do this which impels you to your doom!  Think of me, you grand fart of a man!”  She threw her arms around him and her tears washed a patch of pink into his brown neck. 

            Mac held her and stroked her hair, then pulled his head back to look in her eyes.  Sweet Emily Moore watched him through her tears, then took a breath and kissed his lips.  It was a kiss more intimate than would normally be witnessed along Marlborough Street in the afternoon, and one lady passing gasped and shielded the eyes of her child lest he be stricken by lurid thoughts at such a young age, but it made Mac feel warm and good and it made Sweet Emily Moore feel empowered.  She finally broke the embrace and replaced the air in her lungs. 

            “I’ll thank you now, Sweet Emily Moore, for the finest kiss that has ever been laid upon a man by a woman.”

            She gazed up at him and whimpered, “Can’t you leave me with a penny or two so’s to help sate my grief, good Master Malone?”

            “Ah, I wish I could, fair maiden, however it’s money has caused my pain and money which now pushes me to receive my lot.”  He grasped her hand tightly.  “I will, however, leave you with my very highest regards, and a wish that I shall one day see you again.”  He kissed her hand and withdrew.

            Sweet Emily Moore’s eyes dried quickly and she hollered after his retreating image, “Not too soon, you odorous bastard!”

            Mac ran and ran, carving his way through the hawkers and browsers and rabble, until he at last stood before his destiny: the O’Connell Street Bridge.  He crossed the busy intersection without heeding the pedestrian signals and was honked at by many angry and impatient drivers. 

            “Oy, you!  Get out of the way!”

            “If we must play by the rules, than so must you!”

            “Hurry yer britches, you horse’s arse!”

            Many noontime travelers were made aware of Mac’s crossing, including Dribble O’Doole, who lay against the north end of the bridge and thoughtlessly blew shrill notes from his pennywhistle.  Dribble picked himself up with difficulty as Mac approached. 

            “Why, Mac, you old bear!  Haven’t seen you in ages!  You’re looking fine, fine indeed!  How goes it?  How is your fine Mother?”

            Mac saw Dribble and wished he hadn’t.  “My Mother, God be with her, has been resting in eternal slumber these last seven years, old man.  Do I know you?”  He walked on with determination.

            Dribble followed close behind.  “Oh, you strapping lad of wit and wisdom, of course you know me!  ‘Tis I, Dribble O’Doole, your Father’s best friend and your very own Godfather!  Can’t you say you remember me?”  He tugged roughly on Mac’s sleeve until Mac was forced to halt. 

            Mac sighed heavily and responded, “Yes, I remember, I remember.  I cannot stay to talk, though, for I have reached the end of my pilgrimage and my future awaits me over the side of this bridge.”  He walked several steps more to the center of the bridge and steadied himself against its guard as he peered over into the river below. 

            Dribble kept at his ankles and proclaimed, “Saints alive!  You can’t mean it!  But you’re just a lad of forty-three!  Such youth and smarts and respectability, you can’t go through with it!”  He stopped talking and thought for a moment.  His brow furrowed, his mouth twitched, his eyes looped about in their sockets.  Then,

            “Why, listen to me blabber about, would you?  I’m sayin’ to you what everyone’s always said to me!  I can’t believe it!  Don’t you listen to me now!  Forget what I said!  It don’t matter anyway.  As a matter of fact, I think I’ll join ye!”  With that, Dribble steadied himself on the bridge guard and peered over into the river below.

            Mac was stubborn.  “Don’t you try to stop me, old man,” he said.  “This is an act I must perform to prove to my friends, flock, and brethren – and even mine enemies – that my will shall not be ruled by foreign indulgences nor shall my character be spoilt by sin and vice!”  He turned to face the river and bellowed for all to hear, “I am going to hurl my pain and suffering into the depths of this great River Liffey, and no man shall interrupt my destiny!”

            Dribble’s mouth watered with pride.  “Grand, man, that’s just grand!”  Mac started to lift his leg in order to gain higher ground atop the bridge rail, but Dribble clasped his arm and drew him back.  “But don’t you think, Mac, that the Ha’penny Bridge might do us a fine job better than this one?  It has a passage greater in elevation and might lend us a bit more force when we hit the water.  Just a thought.”

            Mac stopped to consider.  “Indeed, ‘tis a good and kind thought, Dribble, however I believe this bridge will do me fine, for the structure matters not, as long as the water still runs beneath.”  He again lifted his leg and in moments stood tall atop the bridge rail, looking triumphantly into the flowing water below.  Dribble conquered the climb also, albeit with much greater difficulty, for his leg was short and would not lift high enough to gain stability, and the muscles in his arms suffered from neglect and therefore took some time to lift his posterior to the rail, his feet scraping the concrete madly in search of a foothold.  From there, he utilized Mac’s left leg as his crutch and lifted himself up until he stood proudly beside his Godson with saliva flowing and heart pumping.  “Shall we give it a count?” he cried out against the rising wind. 

            Mac lifted a heavy bulk from his coat pocket and said, “No need for that!”

            “One…” said Dribble O’Doole with great expectation.

            Mac said, “I know the count and it is great!”  He raised the bulk in his fist and glared at it.  “Fifteen thousand pounds demonizing my soul!”

            “Two…”  Dribble licked his lips deliciously.

            Mac stared into the flowing Liffey and proclaimed, “Mighty River, swallow the death which I hold in my hand and, in doing so, grant me my own rebirth!” 

            “Three!”

            Dribble howled like a wolf and jumped as Mac sent the roll of large notes to find their demise in the water’s darkness.  They hit the water simultaneously and Dribble was immediately caught in a rapid current and bobbed his way roughly toward Dublin Bay.  The band holding the pound notes together held fast and caused the money to sink to the river’s bottom, where it was quickly consumed by the thick layer of grit and grime which had accumulated atop the riverbed over the centuries. 

            Mac’s mouth opened to the heavens and gasped like a newborn finding its first breath.  His cry was heard round the old city, a wondrous wail of relief and renew.  Indeed, it was so great that all the tramps and tarts and vagabonds within three miles of the O’Connell Street Bridge spoke proudly of it around the communal fires as they picked at their evening supper.

            Mac hopped down from the bridge rail with the agility of a child.  He grinned and slapped his breast and sniffed at the city air as though it were laced with the sweetness and purity of the country breeze.  His virgin eyes spied the emerald green door of Casey O’Neill’s pub across the street and he was struck with a glorious plan. 

            “Come, Dribble!  Let us celebrate this awakening with a pint of our country’s finest black ale!  I’ll beg you to loan me a few punts, though, as I seem to be a bit short at the moment.”  He hiked up his trousers, stuck out his glorious chest, and led his own way across the road to detail his humble story to the friends and strangers who awaited his introduction within the warmth and intoxication of Ireland’s finest comfort.