Читать книгу Li'l Bastard - David McGimpsey - Страница 19

Contrary to rumour, I never owned

just one suit. I had four identical suits,

each with a nickname: ‘Stainy’, ‘Scuffers,’ ‘Elbows’

and ‘Smokey.’ I liked Smokey the best.

Smokey was the man. Smokey saw me through

nights on the couch; Smokey wrote long essays

about suicidal poets and baseball:

‘Bunting Is an Art, and I Do It Well.’

Smokey saw me through the bar on Bishop,

where I danced to the ThelMo Wheat Combo,

a spirited group whose name meant ‘Thelonious

Monk may be dead but we have to eat too.’

Not much could be won by my nickels and dimes,

but I moaned when I put Smokey away

and knew it was Stainy’s turn in the rotation.

Now, Stainy. Stainy, he was all business.