CRACK!
I never
saw the old man
move
that fast.
I mean,
one minute he's
holding
a cue, the next
he's
hitting this poor mark
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.
with 18 oz of wood
on the side of the head.
That
poor guy didn't see
it
coming.
Hell, I
didn't see it
coming.
"C'mon,
we gotta go,"
I tell
my dad as he is grabbing the guys money
off the
table.
I pull
dad along as stunned,
angry,
rednecks
start to
head our way.
Okay,
let me tell you,
I
thought I was dead,
or at
best
left in
a coma
if we
didn't leave.
If he
weren't my dad
I would
have left him.
I know
any other
hustling,
drunk,
septuagenarian
would
have died that night.
I pushed
the old man
into the
Cordoba,
prayed
it would
start.
(it did)
We
peeled away,
no
headlights in the
rear
view.
"How
much did we make?"
I asked.
"$40.00."
The rest
of the ride home
was
silent.
© Charles Scott 2014
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