Not that anyone cares...
...but I am at peace with dropping my brother on his head. I am at peace with busting his head open. He's a freaking scumbag, always has been. This is not a good man, we're talking about. The picture I painted of him for you all was done with some very light brush strokes. He's a bad **** guy. I thought that I would feel some guilt later because he is my brother and he is mentally ill, but I'm beginning to believe that I will not.
What matters now is my job. It's not the greatest job. In fact, it's an awful job. But it's my job. And I am probably going to lose it. I cannot walk. I can hop. I tend bar at a burlesque club in downtown St. Louis. I don't know if you can picture it, but it is not like AT&T or Ford Motor Company. It is a very small affair. I am not A bartender I am THE bartender. They will have to find a replacement. And I will be out of a job.
On one hand, I've saved some money so that I can last a while. On the other hand, I certainly don't want to lose everything I saved, which I most assuredly will. Also, I sort of like this job, as **** as it is.
My brother has no redeeming qualities at all. And then that son of a **** is going to come after me with a **** sword? You want to know why? Because when he was whining about how he can't steal water from his neighbor anymore (it was an abandoned house and he used to open up the water main in the middle of the night and fill up a few dozen empty milk jugs and carry them back to his grandma's house. He's a worthless ****-rat.) I suggested that he walk somewhere that was slightly further.
I should have killed him.