Park People

 
Jinx did squeal when he was drunk, yeah, we all made fun of ‘em when he’d do it. Call ‘em;
“Prized hog! Prized hog!” We all loved Jinx, though…every raincloud is followed by a rainbow. Or some gay-shit like that. Not that gay-shit is bad. Hell, half of ‘em boys from the park have fucked each other. One night we was all a mile outta town in some wooded area-I was woken up by this rulstlin sound-I shined my flashlight on the noise, there in the bushes I seen the faces of Shirtless Phil and Cody, they was fuckin! And I said…I said; “God dammed boys-we all tryin to sleep here-why you boys tryin to poison the air with your un-holy sounds!?” Them boys laughed like little girls and kept at it. Whatever. Gay fuckin. Straight fuckin. Who am I to judge?
Jinx was like that. Never judgin a man. If some new scallywag, or dandy came to the park, some new blood wantin to talk, drink, or lookin for dope Jinx was always first to answer. Jinx was no doper, though. Of course he did like his whiskey. Would even drink vodka too, if he didn’t have the moneys for the darker shit. But he was no hoardin dolt, no sir. Jinx would share a bottle with any man, if that man hadn’t got none. ‘Sall always polite to let the owner drink the rest, though, but this young boy with big green eyes; “naive eyes” as Jinx called ‘em. He musta not known. He was sharin a bottle with Jinx and they was laughin, talkin about stealin, and the police, buncha nasty stuff, when it gets down there. Ya know. The darker shit, Jinx’s fuckin whiskey, and this green eyed boy…well he drinks the rest of it, hands the bottle back to Jinx, addin insult to injury and what not. Jinx goes and he, haah, he slugged the young boy. Right there. Gave ‘em a bruise size of a fist! “Knocked the naïve outta ‘em.” Jinx cheered. We didn’t stop ‘em, we knew he was just drunk, he kept squealin like he did when was drunk. Hell, most of us was laughin! Next day Jinx didn’t remember a thing. Boy never came back either. If it was outta respect or fear, who cares? Bout the same thing to us park people.
Jinx started hollerin one day though, kept sayin; “I hate it. Hate it.” And I was dumb enough to say; “hate what?” He said…”hate beggin. Tired of this. I am doin it, man, I am gettin work.” We didn’t seen ‘em for two months!
Then I got real drunk one afternoon and passed out under the shade of this big oak tree. When I came up, the shade moved, then a new shadow came and it was Jinx…he was standin over me. Piss drunk. I mean he pissed himself he was so drunk. He was stumblin and passed out, so we picked ‘em up and brought ‘em outta town so the cops wouldn’t find ‘em, lock ‘em up for being drunk and what not. We looked after ‘em all night. We knew what happened. He got fired. That’s the way it always was for us park people. Everybody was always comin and goin, never sure where we belong, just know we got by out there…in the park.
But soon after that Jinx stopped comin. We thought he was locked up at first, but people on the inside that got out, well, they said he wasn’t there. After five months we knew he was dead. Then rumors started goin round. Shirtless Phil told me; “he was found behind a dumpster like an alley cat.” He was laughin as he was tellin me. I almost slugged ‘em but I knew he was hurtin. We all was hurtin. When some men cry, some men laugh.
Jinx, though, well, sometimes I’ll hear two alley cats squealin at night. I guess they squeal cause they guy cat’s dick has prickers on it, er somethin, somethin that makes it hurt when he’s fuckin a girl cat. I’ll hear that squealin and I’ll think of Jinx. Drunken Jinx. Honest and happy.

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