Thursday, November 1, 2012

POST 1 of a NaNoWriMo FIRST DRAFT for the month of NOVEMBER 2012

BINGO BOY ----- post 1

     This is how we do it. This is how we live life under the el tracks in a grimy river ward of Philadelphia. Cops call it the 'vampire wonderland,' 'cause everybody jonesin' a suck somethin' outta somebody else. Could be money. Could be life. Could be crack. Could be love. Folks come here to drink. Got plenty a bars. And if you like greasy, burnt up food, they can feed you too. But it not all bars. Got a 'Five Dollah Buy you Anything' lady store and a Geisha Girl-Body rub-Tickle Palace. 

     Place in between got no name, jus' a sign. Jus' a big, old, faded red neon sign. And all it say is 'BINGO.' Got three big plate glass windows, some bee-bee gun holes, dirt and a few dead bugs. I do not know what kind of bugs they are, 'cause I am not no God damn bug-ologist. Them what lives 'round here know me. Them what got bad dreams knows me real good. I Mister Never-You-Mind. Took a whole body acid bath in nineteen eighty nine at the invitation of Big Zeke. He a gangster. He a killer. He a, what they call, sadist. So they take me down to the cellar a what used to be an old tannery, strip me, like for skinny dippin'. An' they do dip me, but not in no water. Ole Mister get hisself dipped in a big, zinc vat a hydrochloric acid. Man!!! That take off the pimples real fast. Flesh start steamin'. I start shriekin'. Shit in the vat too, if you wanna know the truth... All my most expensive special parts get burned off and I die. Never did get to heaven, or purgatory, or hell, or How-Are-things-In GlochaMora, or Brigadoon, or none a them places. Mister Never-You-Mind get smacked down right back here. I a ghost. I THEE ghost... captain a all the neighborhood spirits (you meet them later). Guess that almost like bein' a knight. But all you gotta know is I the one tellin' this story. I the narrator. In life, Mister was a bad, ole Cajun-Creole ramma-jamma. Yeah, I know that ain't no bad-ass word no more, but I like it. And I am the captain. And I am tellin this story. So get youself used to it. 

Now, what flavor bull-shit was I givin' you? Oh yeah... the bingo parlor. If it do have a name, it'd be Viragoes and Harridans Bingo Hall. Like a flea bitten stock yard for tobacco stained, gravel-voiced, snaggle-toothed granny wimmen. Sea hags in nylon wife beaters, tight black bike shorts (gets 'em in Five Dollahs Buy You anything place) and flip-flops. Toenails ain't nothin' a write home 'bout either. Twenty five cent a game buy you three boards (two cards on a board) and chance for ten dollar. Some a the fancy wimmen what got big grandkid-feedin' welfare checks or dead husband (pension) checks plays gold cards. That cost a dollah. Prize only twenty five dollah. Should be forty, but they too dumb a know. Not 'spossed a smoke in a place either. But ain't nobody give no never mind. Only pansies and Jew-girls don't smoke 'round here. 'Sides, in the 'vampire wonderland' thirty five the new sixty.

Lemme take you inside. I go fsst! right through the glass. But you gotta use a door. It crowded. It always like that. Three long 'tables'.... thirty to a side...sixty to a table. One hundred eighty bovine, curbstone beauties when the place all fill. Drinkin' coffee. Suckin' stink weed. Coughin'. Cacklin' and survivin'. Life is tough here. No Name Bingo all they got. An' when it close at ten thirty, they got mostly nothin'.

Back room at the far end. But first they got a 'podium.' That where Uncle Patsy sit. He the caller. Got a real deep, slow, cold voice. He old. He skinny. He sick. Think it got a do wit' his lungs. But he been sick real long time. Not 'spossed a breath no stink weed smoke. But he do. Marty, he the owner, give him orange juice, 'cause lady on a radio show say it cut out all the nicotine. Uncle Patsy drown hisself in it. Marty call  numbers when Patsy on a piss run, but them moldy, old bitches in the seats don't like it. So Patsy pee real fast. Too bad they not got fast peein' in Olympics, or he win a big prize for it, like a 'frigerator, or a shotgun, or a moped or somethin'.

Peek-a-boo mirror back a Uncle Patsy. Outside the mirror. Inside a window. That the back room. It got ripped up, ole, dark green vinyl sofas, dirty wood floor, ole desk what got itself boosted from a school. Whole bunch a cartons. Few mouse turds... and money. It got lot a money. Everybody always countin' money back there. Not foldin' money, bitin' money, as we used a say. Quarters mostly. This where they get rolled up and stashed away. 'Muscles' help. He a 'tired cop. You know cop get 'tired real young. And he ain't got hisself no modern muscles. He got like ninteen seventy five muscles. He got like Joanie Love Chachi muscles. Ain't no big thing. But he do got a gun. He got two gun. Wear 'em like a cowboy. They 'spossed a keep everybody safe.  'Cept if somebody pop him in a head from 'cross a street. Marty wanna have two 'tired cops. But he not get 'round to it yet.

Some bingo kids back there too. They grab quarters an'make change when they out front. They count change when they back here. Two carnie lookin' bitches back there two. Marty lookin' out the mirror. He watchin' 'the house'. He talkin'. He sayin - OK, Mary, OK Dianne, you gonna be my two 'bingo slatterns' tonight........ Them two bitches keep crackin' they gum. But they do show a little interest....... Marty say - Here the routine. Here what you do. Sit down by the toilet. None a them cows like a sit by that spot. An' every time Patsy call out 'leven number an' we still ain't got no winner, I want one a you to yell out with a bingo on the next call. That alone will lower the pay out by like six game a hour (then he look at Ricky) An' you over there, Shit-For-Brains, what your name?..................... Ricky go - Ricky, my name Ricky............. Marty go - You their 'bingo boy.' You grab the money on their row. You the one check they bingo's. Pay 'tension. They gonna take turns. When Dianne win, you check it with Mary. When Mary win, you check wit' Dianne. Just show 'em the God damned card and call out any four or five possible bingo numbers from the light board. That's all you gotta do. That's it. you got it?.......... Ricky go - Yeah, I got it............ Marty say - I fuckin' hope so, shit-for-Brains. An' how 'bout my two 'slatterns'over there? What about you? You got it?.........Dianne go - Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah we got it. We got it. We got it.................... Mary go - Christ, how fuckin' dumb you think we are anyway?............ Marty say - I ain't got that much friggin' time............. Dianne go - Screw you, you hairy Jew bastid. It the same we did when we 'bingo slatterned' for Mickey in Wilmington........ Mary go - Yeah, we professional. We KNOW this shit. 

Guess they got like a diploma, or somethin'? What your daughter do for a livin'?..... Oh, she a professional 'bingo slattern'....... My, oh my, ain't that nice. ....... Now you gotta 'scuse Mister Never-You-Mind. I wanna go have a conversation wit' them gals on a corner.

They dead, but they still hoes........


1 comment:

John L. Harmon said...

Joanie Loves Chachi and peek-a-boo mirrors,
What more can we ask for? : )