Third time this year.
Unlike the last time,
this guy’s still alive.
What’s more:
this time
I like the guy.
The last guy got
barred for life,
which lasted
a year and a half.
He was terribly upset
he was not allowed back
except for one occasion:
The celebration of life
for his friend, who OD’d
last year. Another regular.
Management felt bad
he found her.
He’d stiff us on his tab;
once choked his girlfriend
in the Games Room; one day,
he robbed the place. But
when he died, the boys
shook their heads.
One said:
“It’s a goddamn shame, b’y.”
Another added,
“When ya play with the bull,
ya get the horns.”
All agreed,
and blamed his druggie girlfriend.
But when his friend had died,
one shrugged,
another gave a wry,
“Big surprise.”
Their words were harsher
the next month
when her daughter died.
The same guy
shrugged again, saying,
“One less crack whore.”
I remembered his smile
the night he took her outside,
“…for a walk.”
My first week
I met both women.
They were friendly.
They spoke freely
about how they never
smoke crack near
the baby.
Well, at least
this guy’s
still alive.
He’s crippled, but
the boys say
he’ll be back to work
in a year’s time.
Joe Couture is a writer living in rural Nova Scotia. His most recent work is featured in or forthcoming from Dark Winter Lit, The Literary Underground, Eunoia Review, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, and The Rat's Ass Review. If you want to connect with him, try here: @rjcouture.bsky.social
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