THE SICK NASTY WRITER

THE SICK NASTY WRITER
I could see from across the street
that he was drunk
and looking for something
so when he spotted me
and shambled over
and put out his hand
for a high five
I gave it to him and said, “what’s up?”
“you gotta lider?” he slurred
wavering in his shoes
“no, man. I don’t.”
“that’s good. That’s awesome.”
there was a little silence
before he looked down
at my pad of paper and my pen
and said, “riding a book?”
“no, just fuckin’ around.”
“I’m a fuckin’ sick, nasty rider,” he said,
smiling a big drunk smile
“I read like three or four books a week
so I’m a sick rider. I just wrote this one thing
starts off with a grandson
giving his grandfather a blowjob.”
“that’s pretty sick,” I admitted
he looked around
maybe searching for a person with a lighter
then looked up at the sun
high in the sky
it was maybe three in the afternoon
when he looked back down at me
he said, “I’ll smack a bitch, I don’t give
a fuck. I’m a sick nasty writer.”
“well, all right then,” I said
getting back to my own writing
“I’ll see you around, William.”