Messing with Peggy

 

She comes in late, hoping to catch me with another woman.

This is her usual routine with her men friends, part of social order people around the strip joint expect.

If Peggy donít flip her lid every once in a while, we think somethingís wrong with her,

Only I didnít figure on being the one she flipped out over.

Like most folks that come in here, Iím too weary to fight. Sometimes I moan a little over my sad fortunes. Sometimes I keep my mouth shut.

The one time I didnít, she came onto me, and I got locked up in this situation.

She thinks Iím her man.

Just as she thinks every man sheís laid out is,

But Iím nobodyís man or maybe if I get a shot, Iím every galís guy.

So if a pretty stripper gives me a nod, I go with her.í

I go with Peggy, too, when sheís around.

But she comes in sniffing around when sheís not supposed to be sniffing around, looking for the least excuse to lay a guilt trip on me.

She tells me when weíre alone that she recognizes the signs, as if I got the Zodiac printed on my forehead and sheís calculating our fortunes from what she sees there.

She says Iím cold when I say hello or good by, and maybe I am.

Thatís me. That was me before I met her, itíll be me right up until they dump me in the ground.

She just doesnít want to hear it when I say as much.

I do the same thing to her I guess, turn down the volume in my head when she starts into some rant I donít want to hear.

She gets pissed, too, when she asks a question I ainít heard, and guesses I hadnít listened the whole time.

Then she asks if she did anything to chase me away.

I say no. Sheís not chasing me away. Sheís not anything. Iím just this way because Iím this way.

And she gets pissed when she asks if I love her and I say no, and that I never did.

I want to ask her if all this is about loneliness, and whether she feels as lonely sometimes as I feel most of the time, and whether sheís lonely even when sheís with somebody, even when sheís with me.

I just canít get questions like that out of me.

They sound too much like excuses for why I cheat.

I donít need no excuse. I just cheat. Thatís all.

So now, she slips through the door and Iím sitting at the bar with another dancer, the dancerís arms around my neck, she and I sipping on the same bottle of beer, though her slips make me crazy cause she sucks on the bottle pretending sheís sucking on my dick.

I never see the gun. I didnít even know Peggy had one until the bartender shouts that sheís in here with the gun again and tells everybody to duck.

Everybody does. Even the dancer with me.

I guess I take a little too long to get down and got a bullet up my ass.

Not that Peggy shoots me there intentionally. She just shoots, letting the bullets fly in the general direction she wants. Most hit glass or wood.

Then she runs out of the place again, crying, like she got hit not me.

The bartender calls the cops and the cops call an ambulance, and I get dragged off to the emergency room, thinking about the bottle the strip sucked on, thanking my lucky stars the bullet hit me where it did, and not where it could have hit.

Anyway, I figure I wonít mess with Peggy any more, until at least someone takes the gun away from her.

 

 

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