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  • Writer's pictureWJ King


My story started with me taking a walk with my best friend and ended up in a gunfight near Times Square in which three of four adversaries were killed. I immediately recognized this story as bullshit. I don’t consider ‘taking a walk’ as a leisure time activity. I don’t have any friends, much less a best one. And were I to get into a gunfight, none of the opposition would be survivors. That’s the purpose of a gunfight.

I found myself playing pool in Moe’s Bar on E.18th street in Cleveland. We had been playing eleven hours and it was now 10:20pm. I was up thirteen thousand dollars and the vultures were circling. Some, pals of my opponent ‘Slim Parker’ trying to intimidate me, others hoping I would leave so they could club the hell outta me and take my money. Slim walked over to me and while chalking his stick whispered. “You realize I hope, you wrote this same story eight years ago but my name was Chicago Mike. “Aw shit.”

I was at my desk as a Philadelphia Homicide Detective, telling my partner Jazmine she looked sweet in her leather pants. “Stay in your own damn pants and I’ll worry about my drawers.” She was a good partner, had a nose for murder and an uncanny ability to keep would be suitors, including myself in check. She and I were driving down the Main drag in Philly with a BOLO for Luis Santana and Elvis Baxter, each with the proud distinction of being a three time loser. We liked’em for a liquor store robbery/murder from two nights ago. We were just shootiin’ the breeze when Jazmine suggested we arrest the pair in a convenient store with little incident. I asked her who the hell wanted to read about killers being pinched buying a Twinkie. I said, we’ll wound one and take them down after a shoot out. Jazmine was adamant, an adamant pain in the ass. I shut my laptop and had a beer.

“Your Honor, my client was clearly in another city when the Cruickshank murder occured and I ask that all charges again him be dismissed with prejudice.” The judge peered over her glasses at the prosecutor, “Mr. Goncalves?” We concur your Honor.” A cheer resounded from the group of unsavory supporters of the defendant, as the judge tapped her gavel, thanked the jury and announced the court was dismissed. Oh wonderful, who the hell wants to read about a murderous maggot getting off? Who the hell said this was a good story in the first place.

Writing was not working for me and it was at that moment, I made the decision to become a broadway stage star. I suppose a Tony Award would be every bit the chick magnet as a Pulitzer.


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Karen D. Bota
Karen D. Bota
29 dic 2020

That is seriously good. Forget the Tony. Go after the Pulitzer. 😉

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