Dead Man Walkin' Pulp Vol. 1

It's dark and I'm awake.

Body aching from a few hours before. It's been a while since I had to jump from the fire escape of a fourth floor to escape a 'collector'. I buried a Louisville Slugger in his dome, but, a dome like that only stays asleep if it becomes the new home of a cannon ball. Not a wooden bat. He'll probably use the splinters to clean out his teeth when he comes to.

The rain beats down like a snare drum on the AC unit propped in the window. It's already 80 degrees and the humidity is 100%.

It's sweaty...

The rain stops suddenly. Another sound grabs my attention. It's foot steps. I expected it. How long could I go without this coming my way. The rain starts up again, even harder. Perfect. It means I don't have to tip-toe to get my sawed off.

The silhouette grows on the window of the side door. It's a large shadow. They never send a small shadow. Always the big lugs. Usually just out of the joint. The type of guy that is more comfortable in the Hell that is maximum security prison than he is with freedom. In the joint, he's the boss. Nobody is above him on the food chain. His word is law. The warden consults with this type of guy when there's a problem within the walls of the pen. A guy who's skull can take a crack from a Louisville Slugger.

The sound of the door handle jiggling. My heart beat stays steady. I've prepared for this moment. Somewhere in the back of your mind, when you deal with a guy like Verducci, you know you HAVE to be ready for a moment like this. because it's going to come. Whether you're paid up or not. This is how Verducci covers his tracks. He sends these big lugs as 'collectors'. He's not interested in repeat business. He's interested in not having his name spoken in the same breath as his 'other business'.

Especially during election season...

The door handle is pulled through the door and moonlight shoots through the opening where the hardware used to be. Now my heart rate jumps a bit. I pump the sawed off. A universal sound that would make any man turn and run, only serves to help this 'collector' determine where in the dark I'm crouching. He barrels towards me.

I empty three shells into him. One to the left shoulder, one to the right knee and the third seems to have buried into his stomach.

He buckles over to catch his breath. I chamber one more shell. He looks up at me, the moonlight outlines his larger than life head. I pull the trigger and the larger than life head becomes a larger then life splatter mark across the wall by the door.

They know where I am... it's time to move on... Once again I'm a dead man walkin'...

A new sound enters my ears. My daughter. She's woken up.

op*por*tu*ni*ty

Opportunity is defined by Merriam-Webster as:
1: A favorable juncture of circumstances
2: A good chance for advancement or progress

When I think of the United States of America and why it exists, I think 'Land of Opportunity'. Because think for a few moments at the myriad opportunities out there waiting for you to grab a hold of them. Yes, I said that YOU have to grab hold of THEM. Nowhere in those definitions does Merriam-Webster mention a handout or entitlement of any kind.

If you sit, with your hand out, palm up, waiting. Waiting for someone to give you everything you need, waiting for someone to help you out, waiting for anything to start your life for you, then you're going to end up with an extremely fatigued arm because that hand will stay outstretched for a looooooooong time.

Don't wait for a friend that promised you something, go get it. Don't wait for a government handout, go make it happen. Don't wait for a ride, get to walking.

Make your own good fortune happen! Yes, it's hard work. But hard work is necessary. It's necessary because once you've broken your back achieving your goal, the end reward will have a value that cannot have a price affixed to it. Get something easy or for free and it will have little or no value, period.

Make it happen, don't wait to see if it will happen.



The song 'Opportunity' written/performed by Chad Cavanaugh, all rights reserved