Goddamnit. I tell myself everyday, “Henry, the broads? They just don’t dig ya. You have a good life; don’t worry ‘bout it!” But it only takes one look. The kind of look you can only get when you don’t care. The kind of look you get when the only thing you’re thinking about is a good ol’ fashioned whiskey shit, turn the corner and see a face that could make you fight a platoon of leather necks. A smile that could make everything worth it. A voice that helps you believe there is a heaven, and you just stumbled through the side gate. The last time that things slowed down like that was when “crazy eye pat” pressed a gun to your crotch. Then you smile (the kind of crooked smile only someone who dealt with crazy eye could chuck out), answer her “hello” with a mumble, round the corner and forget what you were trying to do in the first place. Jesus, I gotta get myself a hobby…