Capitilismo

This grizzly old man with a stubbly chin spit tobacco juice all over the marble floor of this too-damn-expensive hotel, which did not sit well with the security who came over in a flurry of blue uniforms and began beating the old man to the ground, half-expecting him to die in their club toting hands, but the old man, a veteran of too many too-damn-expensive wars, pulled a pistol from his breast pocket and began picking off renta’ cops like a kid with a new bb gun firing down birds on a wire, which didn’t sit well with hotel management who saw fit to send many a police officer to the scene where security guards were swamped in a sticky pool of their own blood while little kids and women screamed and of course, the cameramen got it all on tape because now the too-damn expensive hotel has become news so naturally, I make my reservations right then and there because I know the prices will just skyrocket and if I don’t get a room now, there sure won’t be one available later because this place is gonna become busy like OJ’s house as the gawkers flock like geese outside on the street and the old man picks off cops, one by one through the broken lobby windows until they see fit to throw in the tear gas and everyone flees faster than crack addicts with new stereos out every possible exit while smoke roars and sirens wail and rain falls in streaks across the stubbly face of that old man, out in the street now, with an old Russian pistol in one hand and the decapitated head of a city police officer in the other, pushing the crowd back away from the scene that a little hunk of misplaced tobacco juice ignited while the cops put shot after shot into his brittle body causing him to fall and bleed and die like a freshly cut beef cow, and the whole time I’m wondering if Mom saw me on the news.