Burning

The lightning bolt incinerates my second-story apartment but I can only laugh; I was evicted last week. Now my cardboard bungalo is more inviting-- or, at least, not on fire. I wink at God and laugh. Good one, Big G.

But I also know that this moldy domicile will soon be vacant. Because today is the finale. A recent turf war with Jacky Six-Toes has escalated and my fighting days are long gone. There is not a doubt in my head that he will kill me today.

But there is a surprise waiting for old Jack: repeated bacchanalias left my skin and clothing soaked through with Wild Turkey, and a lifelong anhidrosis (an inability to sweat, for those unfamiliar with my affliction) leaves me overheated and potentially combustible.

Jacky's weapon of choice is a boning knife pilfered from a local rotisserie. It will hurt as he digs it into me but how happy I will be to watch his surprise as the blade sparks against my chain mail shirt (found in the dumpster outside the Halloween SuperStore). Oh Jacky, you can't take with you-- but I will take you with me.

I watch the burning building in anticipation of the fire to come.