As the Sun Goes Down Near Alphabet City
He had no teeth and neither did his girlfriend.
We’d sit in his apartment in the dark drinking margaritas and watch Jeopardy.
He’d answer every question correctly and his girlfriend would cackle.
He’d shoot at the mice with a pellet gun as they scurried in the shadows.
He rarely missed.
Their heads would explode and I would feel queasy.
Then he’d turn back to the TV leaving the brains splattered on the floor and wall.
We’d stay up all night talking and drinking.
He’d stand out front of the building in the snow in slippers always laughing.
He was always laughing.
Even after I moved 3,000 miles away I’d call him up to talk over the phone he’d tell outrageous stories always laughing.
Sometimes those people that are hurting the most laugh the hardest.
He had no one in the world.
His girlfriend and myself, we were his family.
I figured when he someday died his body would simply turn into a skeleton in his apartment.
And he’d still be laughing.
Copyright © Greg Evans | Year Posted 2020
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