Juanito stopped by the Super Bar on the way home, he drank enough cheap brandy and draft beer to knock down a mule or two. Then he walked to a bookstore looking for something to help him escape. He always went to the poetry section first, to see if they had any books by him. Some tall skinny guy was bent over showing his ass crack looking at bottom shelf books. When he stood upright and farted, Juanito wanted to bury his steel toed boot up the dude’s ass. When the dude bent over he farted again, Juanito elbowed him in the kidneys. What was worse than his fart stench was his sweat, urine, dog shit slimed shoes, and he reeked like an old douche bag. Juanito wished his sense of smell was worse than his sense of humor.
“Hey motherfucker, you should clean up your act.” Smelly boy looked like he’d been hit in the head with a twenty-pound sledge hammer. He stopped and spoke with the clerks and they all looked at Juanito. He just smiled and gave them all a little wave. After finding one book by Chekov, he headed for home. The summer night was like a hobo’s armpit. Juanito stopped for a six pack of tall boy Budweiser.
Juanito was trying to catch forty winks, it sounded like his lady, Lupe and their cat were wrestling or having sex at the foot end of the bed.
“Hey, I’m trying to sleep. The damn machine noise from the post office letter sorter is ricocheting inside my screaming skull.”
The cat meowed like a Husqvarna mower was chewing and gnawing him into pieces. He thought Lupe was committing murder and mayhem. “Hold still, you little son of a bitch,” she said.
“What in the hell are you doing woman?” Juanito asked.
“I’m trying to clean the cat’s ass. He took a nasty dump in the litter box and now wants to rub his ass all over my white down comforter.”
“Just quit corn holing that cat, please. The fucking zip code madness won’t leave me alone tonight.”
“Why do you act like your hero, Bukowski?”
He yelled, “Bukowski can kiss my brown ass!”
Juanito was soon snoring like a constipated chainsaw trying to cut through an anvil.