Meth Boy!

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

Commissioner Fairlane: Meth Boy, The Central City Bank was robbed, this afternoon. The culprit got away with one million dollars, in five dollar bills. Do you think this could be the work of the dastardly Dishonest Abe Lincoln, who so recently escaped from Pell Asylum?

Meth Boy: Don’t lay it all out on me, man. I have no way of knowing what goes on behind the walls. I put my hands against the walls and sometimes I can feel what’s going on within the bricks. This guy’s wife is cheating on him, or this guy watches Mike Douglas. I have no control over it. It’s like a cold water bath. I just sink into it and when I get back up, the water swirls around me. It loses its feeling. It turns into a gel that looks like water. If you saw it, you’d think that guy got out of a jacuzzi like in a hotel and the water came with him. No way, man. Not at that hotel. No fucking way. That hotel costs more than five dollars. It costs more than five lifetimes. It costs more than five minutes. How much do you think five minutes is worth? To a man in a coma or a man on a battlefield. People tell you five minutes is five minutes. They’re wrong; I don’t disagree with Einstein about much, but my relatives don’t have a lot of time. Not at this point. Is ten pounds always ten pounds? Is the ten of clubs always the ten of clubs. Nobody gives a fuck about the seven of spades when you’ve got a ten of clubs. Guy I was in the Army with used to carry around an eight of spades. He used it to cheat at card games, but only some card games. You couldn’t beat a guy with a full house if you have an eight. It was subtle work. You can’t call too much attention to yourself.

Commissioner Fairlane (to Chief O’Brien): Is The Dependable Kid back from Canada, yet?

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