Monday, October 20, 2014

Damned If You Do

Weather's turnin' cold in Chicago.  Yes, sir, it is.  Makes some men want to drop out, disappear, curl up with a good book and sink away into Blankettown.

Not this man, though.  This man's got a bone to pick.  A score to settle.  This man was born more fighter than coward, more devil than angel, more lounge singer than elementary school librarian.

This man went for a walk.

Wound up in a place called "Satan's Cackle Shack."  Don't know what the hell that's all about.  But it was hot.  Hot as Hades.  Empty, too, 'cept for a cacklin' skeleton.  So I wandered in.  Took the mic.  Started tellin' jokes.  Soon, a few other lost souls found their way through the half-door.  Lent me their ears.  Skeleton kept right on cacklin'.  Soon enough, people did, too.  Lifted my spirits, I'll tell you that much.  

Think I'll stay a while.  A man could get used to a place like this.

You stop in, too, all right?

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