Thread: YAY
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Old 12-12-2002, 02:45 AM   #25
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: Edmonton
Posts: 54
The streetlight cast shadows upon those walking solitary down this lonely strip of road. Walking down the street in the heavy mist brought back distant memories.
There was Joey Pellagrino, leaning against the corner of 5th and broadway, catching awkward glances from teenage girls who were out past there curfew.
He fished out a Russian cigarette, from a pack that once belonged to a dead guy, and lit it.
The sky was a tense purple, close to the same color the dead guy had been just after the pillow was finished taking him out.

That's the way business had always been done in this town, cold and discreet - my meeting tonight would be no different.

"So, do you have it?" asked a man who came out of the shadows, his breath puffing out like smoke in the cold night air.

A rookie, "Got a light?", I enquired as I cooley reached for my menthols in my inside jacket pocket. He cupped his hands to shield the match from the biting breeze and the flame danced across his face.

He shuffled his feet, unsure of what to say next; my steely calm left his previous resolve shaken.
I pulled long and deep on my favourite brand and exhaled, "Thanks buddy, I've got what you want, but first i need to know..."

"yeah I know what you need to know," he said, visibly shaken, "... HE sent me. Now let's get on with it."
He looked like he was packing, but didn't know what to do with it.

I smirked. "Look pal, you can do this the easy way, or we can do it it the hard way, don't fuss this gig up."

"Don't fuss this gig up?" he queried, "so its true that your side has a strict no-swearing policy? Is the monkey rumour true too? Geez, wait til HIS boys here about this!"

I took one long look at him; obviously this kid was not only a novice but on some kind of them psychadelic drugs the long haired hippies sold down at the park.

"Alright old timer here's the folder you requested," he was starting to sweat, i could see where he'd damped the paper with his palms.

I was about to take it when I heard something behind me.
I ducked down instinctively, as I heard the last heavy footstep that gave leverage for the punch that sailed an inch above my head.

The novice went down like a sack of potatoes; I turned to see who landed that blow. My curiousity was greeted with a gun barrel, pressed hard to my cheek.

Ducked down I could see his black loafers, but recognised the dry wit in his voice just as well, he said, "Good evening John, nice night for a stroll."

It was Sal, one of my boys from back in the old neighborhood -- it'd been a good decade since I had seen him last -- and he hadn't changed a burly bit.

His once clean shaven face was thick with hair.... he looked mysterious almost it couldn't be, he removed the gun from my cheek and we stared at eachother.

"You asshole," I spat, rubbing my cheek were the cold steel had been. "You almost nailed me -- if I hadn't ducked...."

CRACK! I flinched then turned to see who got in the way of Sal's 9mm bullet. The shmuck was halfway down the alley hurtling through some empty garbage cans.

"Jesus Sal, who are these guys and why are you here? That's twice I owe you now!"
An act of meditation is actually an act of faith--of faith in your spirit, in your own potential. Faith is the basis of meditation. Not of faith in something outside you--a metaphysical buddha, an unattainable ideal, or someone else's words. The faith is in yourself, in your own "buddha-nature." -Martine Batchelor
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