Fiction
Mercy at the Dead End Bar
Short story
Ain’t nobody understand what it really like to be down and out, hurtin’ so bad with nobody to turn to. Why I’m here blessin’ myself with this holy water at Haberdasher’s Bar. Hate the Irish, but glad they brought somethin’ to this damn country, unlike some of them other people who don’t do nothin’ but want some freebie in return.
You know who I mean? Don’t get all PC on me or I’ll fuckin’ puke all over you all here.
Whadya say?
I’m just tired, tired of every damn thin’ happening in this sorry country of ours. Don’t get me goin’ on that. Hell no. Nah! Thought so. You just like the rest of them. You work your ass off and then when pushin’ comes to shovin’, you don’t do a damn thing. Vote for the same ol’ Circus Dick Show every time. Every time. Right there! That’s what’s wrong!
You know what they call that? That called, idiocracy.
No. Damn, shut the fuck up! Get that water outta here. I don’t need no fuckin’ water. I ain’t drunk. I ain’t crazy. I’m mad. Mad at every damn government fuck-up making them decisions to wipe out people like you and me. Fucked up rigged system choking the promises right out of us. Ain’t no promises. Ain’t no land of opportunity. Ain’t no fucking equality!
