Sobriety

Scurvy Bastard

          Motherless pounded on # 12, his head leaning against the eyehole. “Who the fuck’s there?” called the voice within the SRO.

          "It's me, man, open the fuckin' door."

          Crispy Jack unbolted the lock while his friend barged across the threshold. Motherless swung around and dropped sideways onto the naugahyde lounger that took up most of the space in the room. CJ checked the hallway before deadlocking the bolt and turned back to his street brother. "What the fuck happened to you, man?" asked CJ, staring at the dirt and blood caked around his partner. "You need a fuckin' bath."

          "What I need is a fuckin' alibi… and a hand… get some alcohol and some rags... and put on some Ramones, this might get loud."

          "What the fuck did you do man... tell me you didn't kill Brenda, tell me."

          "Fuck you man, you know I would never lay a bruise on my baby, no matter what she did. It's that scumbag Lester that I found out nailed her behind the Park 'n Pork last Saturday night. I sliced that fucker like a pizza. Buried him to hell in a cesspit down Partonville. Motherfucker had a knife too. That's what's in my ass, amigo, and right now what y'all need is a stiff grip, a boot on my backside and a serious aversion to curiosity to help me make it through the overwhelming urge to play etch-a-sketch with your fuckin' innards."

          It took two pillowcases and a Grand Funk Railroad T-shirt to soak up the blood and half a bottle of Rebel Yell to dampen up the rebel's yelling. CJ held up the extracted cutlery and delivered a well curved whistle. "Damn bro, this fucker’s serated!" and handed the blade to Motherless who replied, "When y'all got a bulletin of something I don't fuckin' know, please don't hesitate to interrupt... meanwhile pour a Christian shot of that Yell on the wound and give it a kiss for good luck."

          "I'll tend your wounds 24/7 bro, but don't be fuckin' with that faggot shit with me. I don't play that and I ain't got much comfort with it either."

          "Well I believe you there, brother," said Motherless, "and I got no less a testament then from my Brenda herself." He wiped the knife on a tablecloth. "You see, she's been in AA for a while now, trying to get right for our next young 'un due in March. Well, she's doing real well and got herself as far as the ninth step... you know, the one where you gots to fess up to the people you wronged. So where else she gonna start but settlin' the score with me. That's when she told me about Lester as he was the latest she stepped out with... hey, what's wrong there, Crispy boy, y'all look a bit blanched? Did you think you were the only one?"

          Motherless pulled a blood-stained list out of his back pocket and spread it out on the formica table. "Y'all ain't even made the top ten, Crispy... and by the way, thanks for help with that blade..."

          Motherless pounded on # 36... "What I need is a fuckin' alibi..."

Scurvy Bastard has been a NYC construction worker, a UK roadie, a London DJ, a stagehand for Saturday Night Live and Eric Clapton, an organizer of Live Aid '85, backstage troubleshooter for The Rolling Stones, housepainter to The Grateful Dead... In the graphic novel series, The Preacher, he was the model for the character of Si, the serial killer... As an actor he appeared in Gus Van Sant's "Milk", verbally abusing Sean Penn, and as a hippie in Milos' Forman's "Hair"... For television he appears in the NBC series "Kings", was cast as an FBI agent on "The Investigators" and has appeared in over a dozen episodes of "World's Astonishing News", the #3 show in Japan... His writing has appeared in Mystery Island Magazine, Zygote In My Coffee, Beat The Dust, Red Fez, Lit Up Magazine, Every Day Fiction and many others.
He is currently a homeless vagabond, couch-surfing through New York and probably headed back to Europe, although he has concluded that he's getting too old for this shit... but it does help the verse flow.