Ten years from now…

It’s Monk. John L. Monk to you, kids… Read his book, already!

John L. Monk

I was coming home from a night out on the town with Carol Ervin and  Lindy Moone. The limo pulled up to the curb outside my little corner of Boardwalk and Park Place where I fell unconscious every night, surrounded by the other  top hats and thimbles. When I got out, there was someone there, standing under a light.

He waved.

I figured it was another executive at Amazon, here to beg an extra week so they could cover my latest royalty check, but it was just some punk kid. A guttersnipe. A rapscallion. A cur.  A scamp. A tramp. Just some nipper tyke nestling stumbling and trying to fly before the rats ate him. Yeah.

“Whaddaya want, kid?” I said to the little imp.

“Mr. Monk…words cannot express–” he began.

“Yes they can express, don’t tell me my business,” I said. “So you gonna tell me what you…

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3 responses

  1. Thanks for the reblog Lindy 🙂

  2. Great piece. Thanks for making me laugh

  3. It was/will be nice of John to take us old broads out on the town, ten years from now!

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