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Word Sketch: 3/7/17, 2:45 P.M.

The Royal farm Store is vast, eleven gas pumps, numerous self serve counters: gourmet coffee, supercharged energy drinks, junk food and jerky galore. I select a coffee as Mescaline acquires his Monster energy drink and takes the purchase to a smiling Dindu wench behind the counter, who takes time out from serving him to abet a theft by her coworker.

A Dindu wench, still in Royal Farm uniform, a carload of hoodrats idling out front, requests a case of bags. The smiling wench hands over a bundle of 40 $37 cents wholesale bags, on camera, oblivious of how much of a pain in the ass it is going to be to fire her, win the unemployment suit, win the EOC Case, and then hire and train another pair of thieving Dindus…

Back on the welfare rolls she goes.

On the way down the road, in the unseasonably warm gust of wind between cold snaps, as we pass the Chinese Railroad Supply Company, a grimy young paleface with red hair rides past us, between two trucks, some enormous thing in a black plastic bag set on the handlebars of his mountain bike.

I said, “I used to train that kid when he was fourteen—that was in 2002.”

Mescaline retorted, “I’d hate to see whatever is in that bag,” as we notice the bulges of some undefined thing, as my former boxer peddles wide-eyed and insanely on, standing on the peddles to be able to see his way…

White in the Savage Night: A Politically Incorrect Life In Words: 2016

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