Piece I wrote a while back, stoned at home so I figured what the hell. Let me know what yall think: You want to hear a story? I'll tell you a story. Buy me a drink. No, no more whiskey. Gin? Gin's fine. Straight? My kind of man. Get some bagged ice while you're at it. No, for my hand. Hey, let me ask you a question- you ever seen a dead man? I worked at a store when I was younger. The type where middle aged white women whose husbands pay for everything in cash come for a little weekend shopping. Place reeked of leather, money, and pretension. What'd we sell? A whole bunch of shit. Thousand-dollar carbon fiber reinforced suitcases. Argentinian leather handbags. Bison hide fanny packs. Gold-rimmed reading glasses. Flasks. Chess sets. The chess thing is a little funny, actually. See, we used to buy them from this Chinese factory under the table for ten bucks a pop. Then we'd resell them as authentic hand-carved Kashmiri ones. Can you believe it? People used to pay a hundred and twenty bucks a pop just for a name change. Dumbasses didn't even know the pieces were made out of recycled concrete! What do you mean? Feel bad? Why the hell would I feel bad? I was just giving the people what they wanted. My boss wanted a twelve hundred percent profit margin, the people wanted hundred and twenty dollar chess sets, and I wanted a job. You owe me another drink for that. The kids? What kids? The chinks? That's two now! You know something? Working in that factory was the best damn thing that ever happened to those slit eyes. If they hadn't been making those chess sets for us, they'dve been killing each other in the streets. Or worse, breeding. Why do you even care so much? Whatever. Eventually, we had to stop doing business with the Chinese. What do you care why? No, make it one double. Save the glass. Thanks. So, we stopped buying the chess sets, but there was already one last shipment on the way when the deal was settled. So we took it, and the damn things flew off of the shelves. Sixteen sets came in, and by the end of the week there was only one left. That's when Charles got there. Not Charlie. Charles. Like Ray Charles. Anyway, Charles came in. He was one of those types who you can tell is homeless the second you see him. They smell, they're dirty, they have the same damn clothes on all day... and that look in their face. You know that look. That one where they pout like little fuckin' children. Makes me sick to see. But I can't help but to feel a little bad whenever I see one. So, you know, I do what I can. Drop my coins in their little buckets and keep on my way. Yes, please. No, just a single this time. Alright, fine, you got me. Where was I? Charles? Right. Well, Charles came in and he wanted that last chess set, but he only had a hundred dollars. So I figure, hey, what the hell, and I tell him that if he gives us the hundred now and comes back with a twenty tomorrow, I'll keep the thing on reserve for him. Never seen someone's face light up like that, and I doubt I ever will. He pulls out a hundred bucks in singles and coins and tossed them on the counter. Flashes me an ugly little smile, if you could call it that, and prances out of the store like a fuckin' faerie. Took me twenty god damn minutes to count all the pennies. But I finally finished and took my lunch break, and when I came back, there was another motherfucker in the store. Another? Eh, why not? Anyway, yes, there was this other motherfucker. Another motherfucker. No, I don't know if he fucked mothers. Maybe he did if he had children. Probably had to. I don't even know if he's got kids, let alone if they're test tube babies. Why do you care so damn much? Right. Anyway, another motherfucker walked in the store. Some rich lawyery type. Going on some sort of trip somewhere. Or maybe he was going home? I don't know. Don't care. I do know, though, that the guy whipped out ten hundred dollar bills and told me he wanted the handbag in the window and the chess set behind the counter. Said I could keep the change. Did I sell the chess set? What do you think? That I said no and kept the set for Charles and there was a nice little montage as I walked into the sunset with my girl and a clean conscience and not a penny in my pocket? God, that's romantic. But no. Fuck yeah, I sold the chess set. Some guy walks into your work and offers you three crisp hundreds under the counter to leave some homeless schmuck high and dry, you come back here and tell me how long whatever toothpick morals you have last. What'd I do? Took my four hundred and took my girl out to a nice dinner. Hundred and fifty dollar check. Man, you shoulda seen my back the next morning. Fucked me like a... man, I don't even know. That was some spectacular shit. See, I look back on that and I fuckin' smile! Where is she? Who, my girl? Yeah, it's funny you should ask. Came home early the next day from work and who was there but that rich motherfucker from the store. Yeah, the same one from the store. Wouldya believe it? The one who paid for her meal the night before! Cocksucker met her down at Kinko's. Even bought her the handbag I'd helped him pick out “for his wifeâ€. He said my girl had a “full figure.†What the hell kinda bullshit is that, eh? A “full figure.†Hah. Well, he certainly ended up getting a figure full of something. No, no, not bullets. What do I look like, a murderer? Charles? Don't know what happened to him. Last I heard he was still playing cards down under the bridge. Yeah, I know. It gets cold around here in the winter. Not my fault. he should've done what he was supposed to. No, I already told you, I don't feel bad. Now go get another round and some of that fucking bagged ice.