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Broken inside, thats what she said as she

  • Broken inside, thats what she said as she walked out on me, taking my
  • Dean Martin cd's and my vintage green plaid couch. What would I do now? How would I get by? I paced back and forth, wearing a hole in my 80 year old carpet, wondering
  • where the money would come from? but before I could get too comfortable in my worries, something sparkled through the murky window. "Ooh, shiny!" I thought. Dammit. What was I
  • going to do about the pound of coca under the bed! The cops were swarming in the yard like cockroaches. Luckily 'Goodfellas" was on TV, so I did my best Lorraine Bracco impression
  • and started to sniff at that big baggie of white powder. The cops could come for me, but I would be able to talk my way out of anything, at something like 5000 words a minute.
  • I learned how to talk so fast because my father was an auctioneer and his father before him and I guess I've been around auctions so much it just rubbed off on me. When the cops
  • appeared at my doorstep with a fruit cake I was a little confused. The small striped box they carried it in was nothing like the
  • nice homosexual man who accomanpied it. I later felt bad calling him a "fruitcake" the first time we met. It turned out he saved my life more than once after that fateful day.
  • Then again, I'm rather prone to accidents. My friends know to keep me away from open manholes, propped ladders, and yellow gummi bears.
  • I once tripped on a picture of a rock someones had painted on the floor. That was the time I hit my head and saw that irresistible light that brought me to you.

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