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Shoot You In The Heart


I saw this dog sitting like a good boy on the street.

Whoever was walking him left him outside before going into a newspaper stand.

This dog – I want to say his name was Rafa – showed off his package.

Rafa was meant to be looked at and talked about.

“Check out that lipstick!”

“What a fucking dog!”

“The Bigness!”


While the well-endowed Rafa stayed obedient, whoever walked him was inside with the newspaper man, who was actually a fisherman with a talent for catching marlin.

He caught so many marlin that he was able to afford this newspaper stand, which was the finest newspaper stand in town

Because it offered the most worldly selection.

Newspapers from every land.

And he also had donuts, health bars, and croissants.

People walked into the fisherman’s store and immediately felt important, like they were someone, because they had so many wonderful choices.

It was sheer genius, his business plan, to empower his customers with a bevy of ink and food.

But today a group of 4 hoodlums left Rafa outside and came in as the fisherman was closing shop.

They filled their pockets with grub and acted cool about it.

When they came to the register to pay 50 cents for 1 health bar – just to make it seem like they were paying customers – the marlin fisherman was about as friendly as someone could be after being robbed.

But he didn’t say anything because he was a pacifist.

He converted offensive actions into water.

That way they slid off his back, left him clean, steady hearted.

1 of the 4 hoodlums whispered something on the way out.

He said,


This wouldn’t have bothered the fisherman if the hoodlum who said it hadn’t talked poorly about his mother while his 3 friends were standing in line.

He called his mother a fat bitch, said she was dumb as shit.

The fisherman almost had a word with this disrespectful rat, and he would’ve if his offensive action hadn’t already converted into water.



Whispered in a hush tone and without raising his eyes or taking off his hood, this cowardly accusation rubbed the fisherman the wrong way.

Chaffed, he stepped out from behind the counter and made his lungs puffy.

He said,

“What did you call me?”

The hoodlum tried to lie. He kept his eyes down and said,


The fisherman said,


The hoodlum stuck with his lie,

“All I said was bye, bro!”

The fisherman let his lungs deflate a little and gave the hoodlum a steady glare and shook his head.

On his way back behind the counter, the same hoodlum whispered,


The water turned to ice, smote the fisherman’s back. He engorged air until his lungs billowed,

“Call me that to my face.”

The hoodlum brushed back his hood and leveled his cock-sided eyes,

which were black and small like a trapped pigeon’s,


The fisherman started to think hard about this hoodlum’s future.

The fisherman said,

“You want to know what’s going to happen to you?”

The hoodlum took both hands out of his pockets and clenched his fists.

His 3 bros swarmed around him with menacing neck tattoos.

The fisherman said,

“You’re going to get in a stupid fight. You’re going to act cowardly like you’re acting with me and someone’s going to pull a gun and shoot you in the heart.”

The hoodlum flashed a wry smile, a silver tooth.

1 of his 3 bros stepped closer to the fisherman and perked up his tree-stump neck.

The brown ink under his skin looked a lot like bark.

The fisherman said,

“You. Stay out of this.”

The tree stump said,

“That’s my bro you’re talking to there. I got my bro’s back.”

The fisherman said,

“I’m trying to save your bro’s life.”

The tree stump said,

“You got beef?”

The fisherman said,

“Do you want to fight me?”

The tree stump said,

“I stand up for my bros.”

The fisherman said,

“Well, in that case, you’ll die, too. Slit neck.”

Although some may have considered the exchange between the fisherman and the hoodlums heated, it didn’t seem threatening at all to the casual observer.

In fact,

2-4 policemen walked by the newspaper stand and peered through the window as this shit went down,

But none of them stepped inside because there was no yelling or brandishing of weaponry. There was no spastic arm movements or shifty legs.

If the 2-4 policemen would’ve looked more closely, or been more versed in the waters that flow beneath body language,

They would’ve seen the trembling white eyeball meat in all parties involved.

With the minutes, tension eventually eased.

After all,

The marlin fisherman wasn’t going to let the situation escalate. He had a daughter to think about. He also had himself.

On the way out, 1 of 4 hoodlums whistled, and the foursome (plus Rafa) walked off into the night with their stolen goods and an abysmal fortune.

The next day, when the fisherman collected all the newspapers from around the world, 1 headline in the local one said,


A picture of the hoodlum who called him faggot accompanied the obituary.

The fisherman looked closely at the picture. He heard Tracy (the obit named him that) calling his mother a fat bitch, dumb as shit.

The fisherman didn’t feel redeemed. He chewed a little on his bottom lip and wondered if he set Tracy’s Final Act into motion.

Was his grim prediction catalyst rather than warning?

The next day,

When the fisherman collected his inventory, another headline in the local paper caught his eye,


The fisherman couldn’t believe it when he saw the tree-stump neck pictured among the fatalities.


He shook his head and felt a little evil.

Did these children get what they deserved?

They had it coming.

They had it coming for a long l o n g time.

The door swung open and a dog stood at the threshold, peered in.

The fisherman didn’t know this dog, never set eyes on him before, but I knew it was The Bigness.

I knew because I’m omnipotent in this story.

No one can see me, but I’m everywhere, watching them, invading their thought-space, and writing their story down however I want

Because I do what I want.

Big Rafa stood on the threshold and then sat. His meaty tongue slid out of his mouth, started humping the air as he panted.

The fisherman said,

“Either come in or go out. Don’t just sit there.”

Rafa twisted his lipstick out halfway when a girl in a white summer dress skipped by him and perused newspapers from Spain.

Her hips swayed from side to side like she was trying to dislocate something.

Rafa mopped his black lips with his tongue and stood on all fours, walked in.

He didn’t smell the floor; no, Rafa had smelled enough floors in his lifetime. He did, however, smell the girl’s sweetness.

The girl said,

“Hello, Doggy.”

She giggled when Rafa rammed his nose in between her legs like a neighing horse.

The fisherman said,

“He likes you.”

The girl said,

“You’re a nice doggy. What’s his name?”

The fisherman said,

“Beats me. He just showed up.”

The girl got on her haunches, flattened the ass-end of her summer dress, and looked at Rafa’s collar.

The girl said,

“He doesn’t have a tag.”

The fisherman came out from behind the counter and stepped outside his newspaper stand. There were a few pedestrians in the area.

The fisherman said,

“Is anyone looking for their dog?!”

No answer.

The girl stood next to the fisherman, and Rafa sat next to them. Could this be the start of a family?

The fisherman said,

“Is this anyone’s dog?!”

No answer.

The fisherman shook his head and went back to his spot behind the counter. He looked at the newspaper


And looked closely at the picture, at a dog that looked exactly like Rafa standing bravely at the aftermath of last night’s slaughter.

The girl walked to the opposite side of the counter – the customer’s side – put her elbows on the old wood and leaned over the same newspaper.

She was ample on both sides.

The fisherman said,

“This is that dog.”

The girl said,

“That’s sad. He’s homeless now.”

The fisherman said,

“No, he’s not homeless. He’s going to live with me now.”

From the perspective of the fisherman, there really was no other option. Nor was his decision noble.

The girl said,

“How kind of you!”

The fisherman shrugged his shoulders and asked if she’d like to take a walk with him and his dog, go down to the sea and throw a tennis ball into the water for him to chase, maybe have some bread and cheese, or even catch a marlin.

The girl said,

“Don’t you have to work?”

The fisherman said,

“Please. Don’t insult me.”

The girl didn’t understand how exactly she was insulting him. To massage the air around her she giggled.

What a giggle, chaste and dirty, an oxymoron, everything. It made the fisherman pulse. It twisted Rafa’s lipstick out halfway.

The fisherman locked up his newspaper stand and breathed in the salty air.

Rafa wagged his tail and barked when the fisherman scrubbed his thick head.

Being ample on both sides, the girl didn’t have to perk anything out.

She walked with grace, on quiet feet, swaying those hips until something very nearly dislocated.

October 6, 2010 2:21 pm

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