THE LITTLE PUNK WHO COULD NOT
by m.s.wardrip
It was Christmas Day in Garageville, Illinois and the suburbs smelled like white chocolate tinsel with sprinkles of sugarplum fairies.
Little “Gooch”, as he was known to locals, squatted down behind the dumpster in the alley behind Palmer Avenue and Route 49. Behind the Alphonse Italian Restaurant is where Little Gooch usually stopped to go to the restroom. It was half way between the homeless shelter and the strip of bars he frequented. Gooch would get drunk, high, stoned, jacked up, hammered, schmoozed or otherwise inebriated and hang out in the alleys behind the bars for a couple of days then walk back to the shelter for a couple of days. He had a routine going. He got his money from dealing drugs up and down the street. He had certain houses he could go to and socialize and deal. He made enough in drugs and cash to party in style like he liked it, down and dirty. Gooch liked sleeping in vacant lots, in the weeds, amongst the bugs, under bridges and overpasses, in abandoned buildings that were rotten and falling down. Filth was a part of his happy world. Gooch couldn’t stand anything clean. It pissed him off that damn people had to think they had to be so damn clean. Gooch was dirty and proud of it.
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Gooch like to smooch on homeless girls, women, big or small, short or tall, as long as they were dirty too. He dug it man! He would go ape over a dirty, skanky ho. Behind the truckstop is where he’d score. Cheap, rejected, unattractive, worthless, shameless, piece-of-trash, gutter-slut whores and more, sometimes their sleazy, slimy, stinky, shady, crazy, mean and lean, down-wit-da-scene pimp daddy rabbit was what turned Lil Gooch on!
Of course it all had to change. It always does.
Now, the clever back alley salesman lies flat on his back in a squeaky pristine clean hospital bed in a local brand new hospital. The doctor tells the Little Gooch that he has removed three-fourths of his liver and that what’s left cannot tolerate alcohol or drugs and that he can never drink or drug again. Gooch tries to sit up but can’t and he cries like a baby as he slowly and desperately says, “I can not live like that! All clean! I cannot! I have to drink to be normal. I have to do drugs to be normal. I have to be natural, not all clean. I have to take the back alley. I have to be normal. I don’t want to be normal. I have to but I can’t. I cannot! I am the little punk who can not!”
Little Gooch died from a drug/alcohol overdose and is buried in “Pristine Meadows Cemetery” next to A. A. Straight.
