5TH NaNoWriMo Novel In A Month Episode

Bingo Boy - post 5

It was drizzling when he pulled into the street. No parking spaces, as usual. Every house had two cars, plus a pick-up truck out there. Itinerant 'contractors,' don't you know. Everybody's 'daddy' a roofer, or a basement guy or something else. Hey, money gotta come from somewhere. Ricky knew that. He knew that real bad. The 24/7 kids were out running and screaming, like always. Never got sick too. Girls shriekin' like somebody tryin' a grab 'em. That's what they're hoping for. Boys smokin' stink weeds and cursing. Some a them wanna be skin heads. You can tell. But sayin' so is a dangerous proposition 'round here. 

Ricky parked in the alley behind his house. Used a be a little postage stamp grassy spot tacked onto each property. But most a the 'new folks' cemented 'em up real fast. He couldn't let himself in through the back door, 'cause his key didn't work the lock anymore. Could a called a locksmith, if he had a little more money. So  he quietly walked around to the front of the block, went down the street, turned into the twenty foot walk way leading to the front door and went in. Then he did his ritual. Locked the dead bolt with a key. Turned the manual lock under it. Laid a big, heavy, snow shovel handle across the door knob, wedging the end into the corner by the jam. Peeked through the little window shade. Saw that the lawn needed cutting. Been seeing that every night for the past week. Went to the refrigerator, grabbed the iced tea jug and guzzled some. Iced tea jug gonna go bye-bye soon. Cost too much. Two ninety nine a pop. TV save money lady say you can get the same thing with tea bags and a pitcher. Ricky gonna try that soon. Got no chocolate chip cookies. Got no pretzel sticks. Eats a few slices of American cheese straight from the wrapper. Crunches like three or four pre-washed baby carrots. Gonna have to give them up soon too. Then he watches TV. Don't look at the ceiling. Don't look at the ceiling. Don't look at the ceiling. That's what he says to himself, inside his head. Water seepin' through from where the tub meet the floor upstairs. Maybe guy at Home Depot can tell him how to fix it? 

Now it's cold. It gets like that in Philly. Daytime still Indian Summer. Nighttime more like Canadian Winter. But gas costs money. Wearin' sweatshirts don't. So Ricky grabs two from over the back of a dining room chair and burrows in. Then he lays on the sofa and dozes off, dreamin' 'bout work. First he sees Little Chrissie. She scatin' over solid ice Jello. Wearin' like a bikini wedding gown. Got lace and everything. Then he sees Jimmy. Jimmy got a meat grinder.... got a real big meat grinder. He makin' sausages outta de-boned people meat. And some a that meat look like it come from Ricky's legs. 

Jay Leno come on. Ricky wakes up. Peeks at the 'yuck yuck, I tellin' jokes' part and drifts off again. At four a.m. he goes upstairs. Turns on a small, eight dollar and eighty eight cent, plastic desk fan from WalMart. Needs it to kill the noise from next door. Hammerin' and bangin' never stop over there. No, really, it don't. Sound like they makin' Chinese coffins, or somethin'. Very nice family.... Very nice. But that where they from. So I don't know. Could be makin' something else.... I guess..

Gotta buy another blanket. What he got not enough. Pee runs make him shake all over. Bathroom cold. Bathroom real cold. Got some old toys in the basement. Gone try an' sell 'em. Got boxes and everything. Robots. Army guys. Space shit.... 'Put it away and don't ruin it.' - that what they say when he little. So now they not ruined. Maybe he be able a make something?

House 'cross the street gettin' robbed. More like 'smash and grab' burglarized, but they gettin' everything. Old lady what live there (she one a originals on the block) go to 'Lantic City wit' her daughter and son in law. They get 'comped.' She happy. She eat buffet food, hear Marilyn McCoo and Billy Davis Junior. She win like thirty seven dollar and fifty cent. She laugh. She cry, but it like happy cry, so that make it OK..... Back on the street, they break her window. Shimmy through. Boost a TV. It nice, but it not real special. You could get it for maybe two hundred and eighty nine dollah at Best Buy. But she got a safe. Keep it upstairs in a closet. It behind some old boxes and shit. They find it. Smash open the lid. Bet they do a happy happy, joy joy dance when they see what inside, 'cause it got 'bout fifteen thousand dollah squeezed all in it. That how they do. Old people, I mean. Go to store. Break a twenty. Spend like seven dollar and thirty nine cent. Go home. Stash the rest. Year go by, got like thirty six hundred dollar. Fourteen year go by, got like fifteen thousand dollar. Now my math not exact. Old lady want Tyson Chicken Nugget one time. Maybe she buy like an Entenmann's cake. You know. Every time not the same. But who care. She not got it in a bank and now she not got it at all. She not know til she get back. Then she gone cry. Then she gone shake. Son in law go - God damn it. Maw, why you do that? You know that buy year for little boy at college? You know that pay for like three quarter of a hearty tack? Damn. Damn. Damn. 

Ricky gone get note in his door. It from the cops. It gonna say - Your neighbor got herself robbed. Tell us if you see somethin'. Good bye for now. You friend, the cops. But nobody gone see nothin'. They never do. Not even sticky finger neighbor guy what help 'em do it. He the look out. He laugh. He smoke... Not stink weed, jus' regular weed. 

Ricky wanna get out. He wanna get out real bad. But even little, bitty shoe box place cost twelve hundred dollah a month, specially if it got parkin' spot or disease free little pool. You disease free little pool not everywhere. Ricky need money. He need it bad. Thought bout knockin' down on Marty, 'cept he doan know how to do it. Place got cameras. Place got 'Muscles.' Soon it gonna have two 'Muscles.' An' that Jimmy bastid there now too.

Little Chrissie not havin' good night either. Not 'cause they robbin' a neighbor. Neighbor robbin' like a big hobby where she live. It 'cause a the baby. He sick. He got snot in lung disease. Doctah give a note. He say - You get youself to the Rite Aid and buy this. She say - What if they got like a discount, generic version?..... Doctah say - Hell no. Ain't got no immy tay shun. Immy tay shun shit poison. You like that little sucker, don't you?..... Little Chrissie go - Yeah... He say - Then you make sure you buy the good stuff.... Then he pinch her cheek, pat her ass real light like and go 'NEXT!'.... What he not tell her is, he get money for sellin' that crap. An' if they not givin' him no money, they give him trip, like to Bermuda, or where you go to ski place. An' he do like plane rides. But baby fixin' syrup cost eighty two dollah an' she not got it. Granny woman what she live wit' ain't got it either. Maybe in day or so they get it? Granny like a young granny. You know, 'round here they go in granny business like forty years old. It a tradition. She know what to do. She done it before..

So for now he get Robitussin PM for children. An' he do like the way it taste. She wipe his head. Dress him up all warm. He do got a cute little sleepin' place. Baby daddy momma buy that. But then she move away to Indianapolis . An' they never see her no more. Baby daddy do some baby daddy magic. He go 'abby cadaver' POOF! an' disappear. Last she hear he in Florida. That like Happy Town for disappeared baby daddy. Little Chrissie hope a alligator get him.

Seem like planets all linin' up. Like a big Gypsy Lady in the sky makin' it all happen. Like soup. Like she stirrin' a big pot a soup. Money trouble. Baby daddy trouble. Leaky bathroom floor trouble. Asshole boss. 'Nother worse asshole boss. You know how it go.... You  got a asshole boss, you gotta do somethin'. Mister Never You Mind see it all. He see it lotta time. But this one gone be different... This one gone be a little bit crazy an' a little bit not crazy. 

You know Halloween candy got magic in it. Not all, but some. Not them Mary Jane's an' all that cheap crap. But chocolate bars got magic. Hershey bar got lot a magic. Ricky jus' ate one. Crawled downstairs. Went into the kitchen and ate one. Little Chrissie jus' ate one two. And boaf from the same bag. Jus' layin' around at work and they grab some. 

A half Mexican, half Puerto Rican ghost I know  from out on the Avenue tell me it come from beans off a bush what sprout on Montezuma's grave. So you know it gone be strong.... Not like genii magic though. This magic gone be different... This magic gone be twisted........

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4TH NaNoWriMo Novel-In-A-Month Episode

Bingo Boy - post 4

The southern voice isn't here tonight. He's off on a tear with a 'hoe' tonight. So now you have me. I'm another ghost. And two blocks to the north, I died. My brother and me sold suits, ties and shirts to hoods around here and some working guys. He was thirty two. I was thirty eight. The street gets real dark when you're open late. 

You can still see the blood in the back a the store. Runs straight down the old, wooden, office floor...right to the back door. My brother was shot in the side of his head. And then he was dead. But I was a 'toy.' They used me for a game. I hung by my feet from the storage door frame. They sliced through my vein.....my jugular vein. They both were insane. And the red ran out like a fountain, enough for ten velvet cakes. My father found us in the morning. Such imagery foul murder makes. 

And the games go on and the numbers fly right out of the cage in the blink of an eye. Will this one win? Or will that won loose? Whose head-banger kid gets a new pair of shoes?

But the alley is warmer today. The sun dried the mildew away. And the rodents are sleeping all snug in their nests with visions of other more crunchy shelled pests. 

What?..... You want me to stop with the road company Sweeney Todd? Look, I may be just a Frankford Avenue ghost, but I do possess a little bit of cultural awareness. So forgive me if I wax 'Sondheim' every now and then. My mother took us to shows. I can't help it. But I'll fade back into a regular narrative voice. Still, don't you like learning something about us usually anonymous tale tellers? It's so much more interesting when ghosts fill the roll. All right. I'm done..... Now go have your fun....

Ricky, Little Chrissie and John (another bingo-boy) take a break, perched upon the small dumpster, the better to soak up a ray or two of afternoon sun. You know, alleys don't get much. They can hear the noise from inside. Uncle Patsy calls numbers. Coarse, heavy throats croak 'bingo.' And the smoke goes 'round and 'round...

Little Chrissie says - Christ, how the hell can they live like that? Look what all they waste on bingo and cigarettes. And when they win in toes to ghetto kicks and discount Tommy Hilfiger crap for their juvvie hall wannabe gandkids. Boy, ain't that the life. God damn assholes.

John says - What the hell are you talkin' about, you dumb slut (he's just kiddin') you? I see you suckin' on them cigarettes......... Little Chrissie looks down and says - Shut up............John says - And what? Ain't you got a kid already too?........ Little Chrissie goes - I told you, shut your God damn mouth, OK?........

John shrugs, takes a hit a his own coffin nail and turns toward Ricky, who pretends like he's dozing........ John goes - Rick, yo Ricky... Where you live?.....Ricky says - What, me?....... John says - Yeah, you........ Ricky swallows back a mouthful a spit and goes - I live a couple blocks south of Jardel Recreation Center. Why? you know it?....... John goes - Yeah, I know it. My old stepfather's from up there. You know Skinny Dominic and his crazy brother?....... Ricky says - No........ John says - You know Jimmy McDougal, a big guy. He's twenty five percent black, but lucky for him, he don't look it......... Ricky says - No........ John can't believe it and adds - Well, you must know Bernadette with the little tits and her sister Angela with the big ones? You know, the one who's panties keep fallin' down. You gotta know her..... (Little Chrissie butts in - She got an allergy to latex. Gee, do you mind!?).... But Ricky says - Nope. Can't place 'em............John turns to Little Chrissie and goes - Jesus, who the hell does he know?....... He don't know any a them, you big, dumb shit. He's Jewish..... John blinks - Oh, Rick, you Jewish?........ Ricky goes - Yeah..... John goes - Both sides?........ Ricky says - Yeah, both......... John goes - Well, don't get me wrong. I ain't no hater. But why do you work here? You ain't related to the boss, or something? You ain't related to Marty? Are you?......... Ricky says - Nope........ John snorts back a laugh. He can't believe it....... Little Chrissie jumps in - And which boss you mean, you dumb shit? The other one, the one we don't hardly see ain't no Jew.......... Oh, yeah - says John. You know everything. How the hell do you know?......... Big Chrissie told me. You know how her family is 'bout Jews and all. Sorry, Ricky........ The Jew responds with a curt, little nod............ John asks - Then why's he work here?..... Same reason as you, you dumb asshole. He needs the money. He does it for the money. OK?....... John takes a deep drag on his cigarette. Guess that satisfies him....... 

Some clouds pass over. The alley gets dark. They sit there, still as statues. 

Big Chrissie sticks her head out and goes - Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Be careful! Just be careful! Whatever the hell you do, don't make no trouble for me. Just be careful! The God damn bastard came back. Jimmy came back! Oh, God! Oh, god! Oh, God!

Ricky looks to the other Chrissie for an explanation. She mouths - 'the other one.'............... Marty sticks his head out. He's sweating. He says - Everybody inside and get back to work fast.... 

Now it's like ten seconds later. The kids are in the back room counting quarters. Marty sits at his desk...just waiting.... Then the door to the space flies open and bangs against the wall. Jimmy's here, a hard, old, angry eyed, Burt Reynolds type.... His red, hot orbs fall on Marty, as he quietly, but menacingly goes - The envelope was light and you know it was light. I don't go for that kind of fuckin' crap, you God damn son of a bitch you!....... Marty gets up and snakes passed him, like all of a sudden he's got something to do out on the floor. And he goes - Not now. Not now. Not now.

Jimmy turns, strides out after him and there, right in the middle of the 'afternoon special,' he starts to yell... Hey, you little shit! Don't you run away from me, you fat, little piece a shit!......  But Marty don't answer, just speed walks through the door and runs out on the street. Jimmy goes after him, slams him against the window. Uncle Patsy turns up the volume on his mike to hide the noise. But fights are fights. The avenue is the avenue. And the bovine 'Tessies' in here don't give a shit. The game continues. But a few of the sharper ones momentarily raise their heads and take notice.

The bingo kids stare out over the crowded hall through the one way mirror. Nobody says a word and Big Chrissie starts to cry. Little Chrissie pulls her down on the ratty sofa to comfort her. John wants to say something, but Little Chrissie motions 'no.'

And the shift goes on til closing time. The last of the legit players say their good nights and leave. Most are picked up by kids, or grandkids. Can't let 'em walk home 'round here. The two shills, the two slatterns stay behind and help clean up. Somebody runs a vacuum. Somebody straightens out all the bingo 'boards' in the racks. Somebody sprays bug juice all over the chairs. Then the red neon 'BINGO' sign in the window blinks out.

Ricky walks Little Chrissie  'round to his car parked just down a side street. They trot pretty fast actually. Both hold keys like weapons. He unlocks the door. She gets in. He closes it. They drive away. 

What happens on the way, we don't know. Who said, or did not say what, we don't know. But just before he lets her out, it looks like he wants to say something, only he doesn't. She wants to say something too. But she just gets out. They mouth their 'good nights.' He watches her  run up to the door (maybe ten feet away) and go in. Then he carefully drives down the impossibly narrow street (with parking on both sides too), 'rounds the corner and disappears...

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3RD NaNoWriMo 'Novel In A Month' Episode

Bingo Boy, post 3

We back in the bingo hall. Just fed 'em lunch. Big old plates a macaroni and cheese. Eye-talian roll and some who-ever-think-this-shit-butter on it. Give 'em coffee too. So you know there gonna be lot a fartin' in this place. Some of 'em actually go - Oh,scuse me..... An' then they make with a nervous, little, titter, titter laugh. Oh, they got the bestest front step manners. Spray sickening, sweet, off brand crap in the toilet and everything. 

But I know they got problems too. Got grandkids in juvvie hall. Not all of 'em, just some. Got granddaughters what makin' 'em great-grandmothers. Got sickness they don't know nothin' 'bout. Guess it come from too much beer. You know beer like crack cocaine to some. It like bread flavored soda what make you crazy. Only time beer drinkin' go 'way is when die-beetis got 'em. An' it get plenty. 

Muscles all the time disrespectin' 'em. An' he not really no better. Come up behind 'em when they playin'. You know some play twenty four cards. He start givin' back rubs. 'Hump rubs' - he calls it. But not to they faces. Then he slide his hand down low, like he tryin' a loosin' up they backbone. But what he really wanna do is give a little ass tickle. Chair-back hide it all. 'Lady' lean forward. She go - Oh, that feel so good, kid. What you, a doctah, or somethin'? Then, when they all tickled up, he ask who want a donut, 'cause he know when he give it to them, they gonna give him big tip. Few a the regular bingo-boys does same thing. And they get big tips too. Ricky ain't never done ass-ticklin' yet. I don't think he will.

That boy don't live 'round here. He come down for the work. Ricky live little way north, in what used a be a quiet place. Bigger rowhouse what got lawns and yards and basement 'rec' rooms and trees. Not 'fancy' fancy, jus' nicer. Some streets by him even got semi-detatched. Few got all-the-way detatched too. But it not so nice 'round his way no more. Ain't tipped over all the way yet. But it fixin' too. Cop say - You better lock you place up real good, 'cause all what ain't nailed down gonna walk.... That what they tell folk what got robbed. Cop say - Every street got one or two light-fingered fellas....... It always somebody close by. They watch. They look. They know when you ain't home and BAM.... they break a window. They run in, grab television, grab money. You know old folks keeps way to much foldin' money in a house. It like a 'nitiation  'round there..... Folks say - You been robbed yet?.... An' if you say 'no,' they say - how come?

But Ricky need money, so he come down here. Folks is all good an' dead. He got the house, but nothin' else. Little bit a money got sucked up by the doctahs, and the doctahs for the dead folks. You know, the undertakers. He was workin' in a library. Ran a after school thing for kids what want a do homework and look up shit. Only most of 'em come for the free pretzels and Cheetos. Guard throw half a them out after like five minutes. They don't care. They really wanna break bottles in a street anyway. Glass fly. Somebody get cut, they laugh. Laugh til the snot come up. 

Library get rid a that program. That way they keeps all them pretzels and Cheetos for theyself. Not like Ricky got no top-dog uncles. Fac' is, he got no uncles. One aunt still 'round, but she live in Florida wit a accountant what is her husband an' a derma-tologis' daughter. They send him a happy-new-year-for-the-jews card every once in a while, but that 'bout it. Heard about this joint from cleanin' woman at the library. She got a daughter used a work here. She say tips is good. Nobody ask no questions. Nobody pay no taxes. Nobody pay no mind. Oh, they do pay some taxes on like a little salary. But not too much. 

Look, bingo-kids sittin' out in a alley now. They on a break. He wit' Little Chrissie. She smoke. He don't like it, but he not wanna say somethin', 'cause everybody in there smoke. It like born in a them, or somethin'. Big metal door open, to like let in fresh air. But no fresh air go in there. All that happens is putrid smoke roll out. Ricky look. He shake his head. Little Chrissie say - What? It bother you?....... He say - Yeah, it bother me. Don't nobody know it gone kill em?........ She say - What you want people a do? What difference it gone make? When it your time, it your time......... You see, scientific investigations don't carry much weight 'round here. 

But Little Chrissie a thinker. She see stuff. She say - You know what do bother me?...... He say - What?..... She say - Marty, he bother me. You know how much money he take outta this joint? Got like a hundred dumb bitches in there. A hundred dumb bitches. Some day even more dumb bitches. An' he grab like thirty dollah from each one. We open like four days a week. Shit, I know. I got it all figured out. Only take half for him a make his 'nut.' That what they call it...makin' your 'nut.'........ Ricky say - how you know?......... For a Jew-kid, he is very, very, very naive.........Little Chrissie say - Big Chrissie. Big Chrissie tell me......... Ricky say - How she know?...... She look him in a eye like she can't believe it, throw 'way her cigarette and say - 'Cause like while he makin' his nuts... she playin' wit' 'em.

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Post 2 NaNoWriMo for November 2012

Post 2

Now walk-in bingo parlors are a fixture in certain areas, usually cropping up along low level strip malls or struggling old business districts. They occupy former auto parts stores or Lane Bryant shops. Owners are former cops, or city employees. the law says the gotta give a certain percentage of the take to a predetermined charity. Sounds alright. But in some cases that 'take' is hard to pin down. A lot of this is anecdotal, still you hear it all over the place. Bingo hall operators got three sets of books. One for the IRS. One for the charity. And one for the boss. Look, who's gonna know? It's all cash. No checks. No cards. No records. They make a big show of running up and down the aisles 'tabulating' the number of cards played and the pile of quarters grabbed. In some places it's legit. In some places it's not. 

Boss usually got a big, late model Caddy parked out back. Maybe a little ways off, so disgruntled losers don't see it. You know, 'car keyin'' is a big hobby 'round here. Everybody gotta have a hobby. 

Marty used to work in the Register of Wills office in City Hall. You know, one a those grimy rooms with the worn counter and ink stained floors and walls. Like an ever-so-slightly updated version of something from Dicken's time. Was it a political pay-off job? Yeah, sure it was. Wife's people had ties to City Council. Money changed hands. Not, strictly speaking, a bribe. They got ways. You can give it to an election fund, or whatever they want a call it and it's OK.  Then, when he retired this 'bingo scam' looked good. You know, Steve Wynn's people came up this way too. But they did it in Nevada. More rules. More eyes. More people looking. Philly was different. Que sera, sera. Oh, not official. Not on the books. And most of the operations are primarily honest. But accidents do happen, if you know what I mean.

Life is good now, for Marty anyway. Got a nice house Huntington Valley, a big updated split level. Got a leather sectional sofa, a bichon frisse. The whole thing. Wife's a real loud mouth, bitch on wheels. But he manages to survive. Not like he's gonna do anything else......

Know what they call running a bingo parlor in the trade? They call it 'running a dairy farm,' 'cause all you gotta do is milk them friggin' 'Bossies' (those idiot players, I mean) and the cream comes rollin' in.

Know what else? A walk-in bingo hall is one place where them what got shaky records can grab a few bucks, 'cause it all flows under the table. Nobody sees. Dopes give 'em tips. Ten dollar pay out gets a one dollar tip. Give 'em a coffee, or a doughnut from the fingered up doughnut display, get a tip. Like an extra level a welfare for roughie-toughie, where the daddy, mammas. 

Sad thing is some a the regular players got nowhere else to go. They even waddle in on Thanksgiving. Christmas too. Place gives out little gifts. Not like dollar store gifts. A little better than that, but not by much. Coffee mugs, cheap, leather wallets, picture frames, crap like that. Got a kitchen in the back. Keeps it clean enough. Roaches move in sometimes, but he sprays. You know, some a that bug juice don't smell so bad. Cooks food in there. Simple shit. Hot dogs for lunch. Chicken patties and spaghetti for dinner. Rolls it out on a cart. Everybody gets a little platter, maybe like with a roll and butter too. You gotta see 'em eat it with them black, dirty, greasy fingers. Bingo chips get nasty. Some care. They waddle off and wash their hands in the bathrooms. Got two of 'em. But some don't. They still livin' though. So who knows.

Oh, and I am not Mister Never-You-Mind. I'm just one a the other ghosts runnin' up and down the avenue. Frankford Avenue, 'case you don't know. That's all I wanna tell you now. So shut up and don't bother me.

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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........

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IMPOSSIBLE FOR BEGINNER TO ACCURATELY COMPLETE NANOWRIMO START-UP CHORES. ASKED FOR HELP, BUT cricket chirp, cricket chirp, cricket chirp, STIL WAITING. SO IT'S GOTTA BE THE VAMPIRES TIL I/THEY CAN (HOPEFULLY) GET IT RIGHT

I thought I'd be doing NaNoWriMo by now. Have a story all planned out and everything. Spent HOURS trying to sign up and complete start-up chores. The vampires I blog for even agreed to let me do it. (it's me, wilkravitz, in case you don't know) But it's almost impossible for a tech challenged soul like me to get it all right. And THEN, when I ask for help, I apparently did that the wrong way too. Plus, our server VIRGINBroadband2GO, made sure they did their part via slow responses plus many other sundry varieties of punishing, little tortures. So.... attempting proved futile. I'm STILL not 100% hooked up the right way. Nor have they answered any questions. Will I go back tomorrow? I'd like to. It'll be a day late. But that's OK, because I suffer from word hemorrhage of the brain. So until then, let me continue to fill you in on what's going on 'round here. 

Luna pretends like she doesn't know us. She's a vampire and a physician and an Anti-Enchantment bureau operative. Started as a mortal. But she had a 'thing' with Tomas and Papa and now it's 'fangs' for the memories. Truth is, our guys really don't care. Papa still occupies some ethereal (finally figured out how to spell that one) Shangri-La or Brigadoon, so he's completely useless. Sure he steps in and 'does something' when HE wants to, like some uncaring, lethargic chef stirring the pot. 

Oh, I need a vacation from all these 'miraculous' creeps for a while. Let 'em go bother Anne Rice for a few weeks. She'd dress 'em up in leather and lace, prance 'em around and have a great time. Tomas would get on swimmingly with her. He'd rediscover that Castilian lisp (which was never his regional accent) and sip those old, thick, Spanish wines. Jerez, I think they call them. Annie would pout and stick out her lower lip and kick her feet. I'm telling you; I'd love to push that rotten bastid out a window, but the little bitch can fly.

Doctor Franklin could help me, but he won't. And I really can't complain about him, 'cause he's got other problems. Seems his 'remedies' don't work anymore and he's starting to age fast ..... which can get real inconvenient when you're already three hundred and six years old. What, he's 'only' got the body of an eighty four year old? How the hell is that supposed to help him now?

Wants Tomas to do something for him. Wants him to test drive the Great Armonica.... And the one they got out here is really big. In a sense, what the old reprobate wants to do is get into heaven, or someplace like it, without ever dying.  Like a divine 'wetback' if you will. The machine's supposed to do it for him. It's gonna rev him up and spin him 'round real fast, all the while bombarding his flaccid, drooping, flabby flesh with carefully orchestrated harmonic frequencies designed to instantaneously shuck off the mortal coil and deposit him securely in The Bosom of Abraham. Sarah says - Why doesn't he just die?..... Why, indeed? A scientist to the end. What can I tell you. 

Did you know he had a son? A 'baby boomer,' named Merrill. Think he's about fifty seven years old. Got an antique shop on Pine Street. Don't see the old man much. But they get together once in a while. And ,boy, does he stand to inherit a lot. We don't think about it today, but Franklin was rich even in Revolutionary times. Imagine how much he's got now. You know, that big contact lens cleanin', eye care company is part his. And he owns West-of-Broad-Street real estate comin' out the wazoo. Think he's got a big chunk of Sandals, or one a them other resorts, but I'm not sure. I know he's had Bill Gates and Warren Buffet down to the complex under the navy yard. Bill and Hillary Clinton were there once too. But I'm not supposed to tell you that. I'm not supposed to tell you anything. They think all I do is shuffle up the real stuff and hide everything. But I don't. And if you've followed us since the beginning you KNOW how many times I've said - Please understand we just pretend that what comes next is fiction.

You think those bastids read this? No. Not one. Not ever.  Oh, they like havin' their names out there. You know how vain they are. Think it's all like a dumb blog-opera for stupid human consumption.... Let'em go to hell. what do I care? Oh, they're SO good. Not like all them other life-eaters. Yeah? When's the last time they bought me a decent new pair a sneakers?... the cheap, bastids. 

You know, a group a guys from L.A. wanna catch 'em. They wanna grab 'em. They want a study 'em. Sorta like when they had Papa under The Vatican in Rome. I know, 'cause I took the call. Last week, I think it was. Told the 'familiar' I'd be sure an' pass it along. Made like I was writing it down and everything. But I didn't. And three days later that brown nosed 'familiar' got himself run over by a car. Not from side to side. Not across the waist. No, not like that. This dumb bastid managed to get hisself  flattened from crotch to head. You know... the scenic route.  Ever see one a them rubber dolls where you squeeze it and the eyes, the ears and the tongue pop out? Oh, it was wonderful. Don't look at me like that. Shut up. Don't look at me. 

God, I wanna do NaNoWriMo. Wanna grab myself an agent and get away from those sons a bitches.

Listen, if any of you know somebody at NaNoWriMo, or Amazon or anyplace over there, PLEASE ask them to help me do all the start-up crap the right way...... I have been among the 'dead' too long. 

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Vampires will have to take a back seat for a while. Nanowrimo Time!

     Bear with me. this is going to be a little different. I'm going to produce the first draft of an actual novel. It won't be like a blog post. There'll be less 'telling' and more showing. Plus, no paranormal stuff. Just a linear

story about real people in complicated situations. I still like the pixilated angle, so we'll keep that. The setting will still be Philadelphia, plus the Jersey Shore area (hey, in three months it'll be back--- beach towns got contractors coming out the wazoo.), because that's my world. May have to change the background to white. Don't know if they allow negative image creativity. Hope I remember how to make the color switch. PLEASE leave comments along the way. I crave feedback, so don't go cheap on me. Now I got to learn how to lay out a manuscript page on this site.. I don't even know it that's possible. But I want to do it here because this blog is my place and if those vampires don't like it, they can get themselves a new 'familiar.' But trust me. They won't. Gotta leave now to go complain about some dumb girl on the TODAY SHOW.