Larry Cook was a crabby old bastard almost as bad as the fuckers he caught and sold off the waters on Knotts Island North Carolina.
Every other morning during the season he was up at the butt crack of dawn and on the water either pulling or baiting pots.
He worked hard, he drank even harder.
He was back at the marina went and sold his crabs paid his crew and hit the bar like clockwork.
If he made it home was never the question, now if he it made into the home most nights was.
He lived in a nice old house his neighbors thought he was a freak.
And he thought they were all a bunch of stuck up yuppie bastards.
He passed out on the lawn.
But he didn't give a damn for it was his lawn to pass out on.
He sat there on his tail gate one morning after a good bender.
His next door neighbor just glared.
He cracked a beer and just laughed.
The neighbors seven year old kid walked up to him.
Larry Cook hated kids.
And they always seemed to be drawn to him for some fucked up reason .
Like a damn house cat.
Course Larry never hated pussy although that never quite seemed drawn to him like fucking kids.
The kid just stood there staring.
Larry just kept drinking his beer.
“My dad says you're a nasty old drunk.”
Larry just looked at the kid and almost laughed.
“Yeah that really hurts cause I thought me and him were always friends.”
“Really that's weird because he hates you Mr Cook.”
Larry cracked another beer.
“So what the hell you doing over here shrimp.”
“Really seems like you're also a bit retarded as well.”
“You shouldn't use that word Mr Cook its offensive.”
Larry saw the kid’s mother step out on the front porch.
She had a look on her face as if her little bed wetter was speaking to the Devil himself.
“Well Frodo I believe you're mother wants you.”
“She thinks you're crazy.”
“Most women do.”
“She said that's why you're wife ran off and left you and cause you're a drunk.”
“Bobby stop bothering Mr Cook.”
Bobby's mother called out.
“Looks like the warden's calling kid.”
“Well Mr Cook I guess I better go.”
“Yeah shit for brains come back and visit when you can’t stay as long.”
“Mr Cook I don't think you're so bad aside from sleeping on the front yard and hating everyone.”
“Yeah thanks and tell your mother even though she’s a uptight bitch, I still think she has a great ass and thanks for not drawing the blinds last night.”
The kid just looked at Larry oddly and shrugged his shoulders.
“Okay well talk to you later.”
Larry learned a lot of things from his conversation with the kid that day.
He only passed out in his back yard from there on out.
About John Patrick Robbins:
John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet and editor of The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers. His work has appeared here at The Dope Fiend Daily and also at, Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red Fez, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash , Synchronized Chaos , Boned Magazine, Five Two Poetry, Cajun Mutt Press, Blue Pepper, Blognostics, Piker Press, Spill The Words, And The Whiskey Writer.
His work is always unfiltered .
This is a write from John Patrick Robbins new Ebook Smoking At The Gas Pumps.