Uncle Riffs was fresh out the box, he’d gotten hemmed up for bank robbery but he’d served his time and now he was having a beer with Fausto.

“How was the clinko?”

“How you think?”

“How’s it feel to be out?”

“How you think?”

“Been reading my dad’s book.”

“That garbage? I got a funny story about that one.”

“Oh word?”

“Yeah, so when it got published — ”

“I heard it never really got published.”

“Will you just let me tell the story man? It was never published in the states but the London publishing house that bought the European rights had already paid the printers when your pops pulled the plug and they didn’t want to lose half of their deposit so they just went ahead with their first printing, it was a small run anyway, like a thousand I think. Anyway the book got a real nasty review from this prick Simon Wrensbush, I’m talking real horrible mean stuff this guy said, real foul, ugly shit, and your pops was pissed man, so anyway, lo and behold, this dude ends up missing, you know, sleeping with the fishes in the Thames, and the publisher, Mark Tittlesworth, well he got an old fashioned ass kicking too. Anyway, after the bobbies pulled ol’ Wrensbush out the river, there were allegations and whatnot, but it all died down, and meanwhile the book became a cult classic, there were bootleg copies for sale in every book shop in London, and TIttlesworth, being the dense fuckass he was, apparently didn’t get quite enough shit kicked out of him and thought he’d be cute and publish a second edition, I remember ur pops showed up to the release party with some goons and dangled Tittelsworth’s old fragile ass off the balcony of the Soho House rooftop bar asking where his bread was before getting 86’ed from there forever, and that old bean-eating motherfucker Tittie-boy woulda probably ended up in the Thames too if his brother didn’t drive him out to the countryside and throw him in some kinda loony bin.”

“Wow, crazy.”

“But yeah, that book is trash anyway.”

“It’s at least two different books so far.”


“Never mind.”

They sipped their beers.

“I kinda like it so far.”


“The book.”

“Jesus, you still on that? You think this is a fuckin book club? This is a bar fucko and I just came home from the feds, nigga find me some pussy and quit acting like you ain’t know how the game work.”

“Nigga, find ya own pussy.”

“Good for nothing ass…”

“Yeah, yeah.”