Where he finally admits he likes the wounded birds best

“So Mr. Smith was his real name?”
“Yeah. He wanted me to find his daughter.”
“I found her.”
“And what?”
“Let me guess. Beautiful. Stained. Hopefully over 18.”
“I don’t see why you … Ok. She’s all those things, but so what? She’s cool. I mean she’s …”
“Don’t say it. What she into? Cutting? Abortion? Miscarriages? Coke and smoke?”
“She might have been. She’s older now. You make it sound so cold.”
“It’s just the usual litany with you. If she’s over those and her old man wanted you to find her she must be into worse.”
“She was into worse. Now she’s not. Now she’s –“
“Into you.”
“Well. Yeah. What?”
“The sane ones leave you and the crazy ones, hell, they leave you too. You always did like a project.”
“She’s a woman, not a project.”
“From your lips. You only seem to like the damaged ones. A real fixer upper. What’s this “woman’s” story? Bad childhood. Daddy issues?”
“All that. But that’s just history isn’t it? There’s more to a life then a list of misdeeds and pain. You always see the worst in people. She’s got a masters in English.”
“That would do it. Ok. I’ll bite. What makes this gal so special?”
“I don’t know. Everything I guess. Did I tell you she cooks? You got to try her chicken noodle.”

Posted on
March 6th, 2012


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