From my vantage point, I watch the two men. Watch and listen.
‘What the fuck you doing, Roustabout?’
That’s the Italian, Montello. He’s your typical dimebag scum-dweller, easily bought at any of the local, cheap stereotype outlets – bars, pubs, any dwelling where big burly men loom and wield the phrase ‘fuggedaboutit’ like it’s punctuation.
It was a testament to the all-corrupting nature of money that the other man, Roustabout, would even occupy the same space as this ‘type. Ah well – his problem. You roll the dice and sometimes all you see are bullet holes. Continue reading