Friday, 17 June 2011

Poetic Justice on the hard streets: Crossbow Annie

 
L&L is a second hand dealer that purchases insurance write offs from the scrap yards. With a few ingenious methods they somehow fix these fatal wrecks with excessive amounts of putty, reinforced chains and heavy detergents. The last scratches are hidden under a thick layer of polish wax and chips are blotted away with nail polish. Road worthy certificates are easily arranged with a case of whisky and a night at some Russian lady lounge that always promises lipstick smeared orgasms.
The salesmen are gold teeth brokers from hell and sell these wheeled coffins at a profit margin of at least 200% a unit. Everybody is approved every time and even the blacklisted customers get credit with a ridiculous payment plan that can never be honoured. The pride of the lot is the repossession team that looks like a cross between the Universal soldier and the terminator. Fierce chinned Uzbekistan chaps that break down doors and crack kneecaps to return property to the lawful owner called Spider.
Spider was the local Russian Mafia that ruled main road and had territory marked off from Maitland station to Woodstock plaza. Dealings in pawnshops, second hand furniture stores and a few other illegal ventures made him a fast millionaire in these cut throat parts of the city. He had a huge collection promotional coffee mugs that he displayed conspicuously and once cut of his tea ladies ear when she made coffee in one of the mugs displaying the queen on it.
That tea lady was my mother and she felt no gratitude when he surgically planted her ear back on her block. One day she mixed epoxy glue cement and sedatives in his porridge and somehow this concoction completely disabled him to helpless watch mommy in silence with a crossbow:
This is what she said:    
“You wasted my man in one of your bars one evening when he spilled vodka on your trouser and you killed one of my children with your drugs. Let me read you one of his poems just before he overdosed. 
the Hard Streets

Heroic Crusader thoughts
Fantasizing the libido chest

Walk the ghetto

Find your dragon
Smoke it or knife it

Find your princess
Pay for her or beat it

Nothing is stranger than fiction
on the hard streets

She looked at him and started reciting squirming Spider’s last rites:
Judgement is coming to all you and there will be a gnashing of teeth and those who do not have teeth will be issued with teeth but by the wrath of god there will be gnashing.”
“Die Motherfucker!” and she shot him.

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