Frank settled down out in
the valley…
And he hung his wild years on the nail that he drove into his wife's
forehead.
He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed
a 30 thousand dollar loan at 15 and a quarter percent, put a down payment
on a little two bedroom place.
His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash. Made good bloody marys,
kept her mouth shut most of the time, had a little Chihuahua named
Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind.
They had a thoroughly modern kitchen, self-cleaning oven, the whole
bit. Frank drove a little sedan they were so happy.
One night Frank was on his way home from work. He stopped at the liquor
store, picked up a couple of mickey's big mouths, drank em in the car
out in front of the shell station. Got a gallon of gas in a can. Drove
home. Doused everything in the house.
Torched it.
Parked across the street laughing. Watchin it burn. All Halloween orange
and chimney red.
Frank put on a top forties station, got on the Hollywood freeway and
headed north.
Never could stand that dog.
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