Slow ride

John O'neil awoke on the floor of his living room the rays of the late afternoon sun rousting him from his sleep. If the state he was in could be called sleep. He got up slowly noticing that he couch was right in front of him and he was somewhere near the coffee-table. It took him a minute for him to get his bearing. The last thing he could consciously remember was entering an establishment with his lawyer Herb. He had already imbibed almost a bottle of scotch before that so the memory was already hazy at best. Something had happened in that establishment that much he was sure as he felt a cup over his right eye. He got up to examine it in the mirror, his clothes were still intact which was good, and his suit was only slightly disheveled. What the fuck happened last night? John thought to himself as he walked over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a tumbler. It was the only thing that seemed to ever make the headache go away for him anymore. He opened the liquor cabinet and opened the mirror, something he instantly regretted. His personal appearance had gone rapidly downhill in the past month and now he could see it in entirety. In addition to the gash over his eye, which was not as bad as it felt, he had a week old stubble and large dark circles under his eyes. Not to mention his stomach which seemed to get bigger every day. He extracted the bottle of scotch from the cabinet and pour himself a generous shot. What the fuck have I become? He thought as he downed the glass. When he had been a marine in the pacific what felt like ages ago he had trekked miles and miles in the jungle with pounds of equipment on his pack. These days he sometimes had trouble making it from his house to his car. There was trouble looming ahead he knew as he poured another shot. He had been narrowly granted bail after being arrested and charged with labor racketeering and extortion but he knew it wasn't over. The Italians would suspect him and suspicion was all the pretense they needed to make a move. Also John knew his arrest was only the tip of the iceberg, that the hammer was more then likely about to come down on the union and the whole family. They wouldn't get the mob and corruption out of the union entirely but it was likely they would try. Vito had wanted to meet with him today and it was getting late. Fuck John thought. It was an impossible situation. If he met with him it might lead to him getting clipped, if he avoided him it would most certainly result in it.

I'm mad, i'm mad.

I was watching the show 'Gangland' on TV tonight and they were talking about the status of the biker's girlfriend in the gang. In the guidelines of the gang it says that women who are going out with someone in the gang are 'property', and basically goes on further about how they basically treat them like shit. However despite this one of the members said that women flock to them because of the allure, the power, somehow. Despite the fact that they are assholes to them they want to be with them. On another show a young women who is strung out on pills and drinking has a psychotic boyfriend who hits her and breaks down her door one time when he find it is locked. Something seems askew about all of it. Something wrong. Why are us men such assholes? And even more interesting why do women constantly date said assholes? It seems to defy logic and reason. People are fools by and large, sheep. Like when Lincoln got shot on Fords theater and it took the people in the audience a good ten minutes to react and go after John Wilkes Booth. Maybe it was just the pure shock but still. To me the mere fact that he was unguarded in the box to begin with with no real security to speak of in general is amazing. Granted it was the first Presidential assassination in American history but they had to have had some knowledge that there were people who there who wanted Lincoln dead. In fact during that era any person off the streets could come into the White house and gain audience with the president. Strange times that we live in these days.