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The
Life and Daily Death of Sam Mackie
By
Steven Hoadley
Episode
Five - The Last Straw
We’d been broken into. A smashed window and the front door left open – a sure sign of criminal activity. I wasn’t surprised. We lived in the middle of hell, the scrapings of Satan’s rectum -- the Tenderloin, near 6th and Market. It was a studio apartment and our rent was $600 a month -- another sure sign of criminal
activity.
"Why’d they break the window?" I asked.
"To get in," Samantha replied.
"Well, no shit. Why’d you lock the place up?"
"Because, I didn’t want anyone to break in."
"Good God, woman. They’re going to break in anyway, that’s why we leave the door unlocked. Now our window’s smashed and we’re going to have to live with the goddamn flies!"
"Good!" Samantha yelled, as she threw her purse across the room. "More food for the fucking cockroaches!" She threw herself onto the couch and began to cry.
"Come on, sweetheart, it’s going to be alright."
"No, no it’s not, Sam. We got to get out of here. I can’t take this place anymore. Did I tell you someone tried to rape me the other day?"
"What?”
"Yeah! Some fucking psycho tried to pull me into the alley, started pulling at my clothes.”
"I think someone tried to rape me, too.” I said. “Either that or he just wanted my pants."
"See! See what I mean? This place is a shithole! Baby, we got to get out of here."
"We can’t yet. We’re paid for through the month."
"I don’t care. Let’s just go. Please, Sam. I don’t feel safe here. Let’s just get on a bus and get out of here."
"I know it seems bad, sweetheart, but we’ve been in worse."
"What was worse than this?"
"Remember when we were staying in old Blind Ray’s garage?"
"Okay, then this is the second worst."
As Samantha bawled and bitched, I took a quick glance around. Nothing seemed to be missing. The TV, the radio, my books; all still in place.
Suddenly Samantha screamed. "My mother’s music box!"
She leaped up and began rummaging through the dresser drawer. It was still there; unnoticed and untouched.
"Thank God," she sighed.
"They just want money or drugs, sweety. We got neither," I told her. "Christ, I’m stressed. I need a beer."
I walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. Empty. The beer was gone.
"FUCK ME IN THE ASS WITH A BIG BROWN APPLE! Those crack-smoking ghetto motherfuckers took our beer! Baby, get your shit together, we’re outta here. That’s it. They did it, they finally broke the hunchback’s spine."
"Thank God," Samantha cried. "We can do better than this, huh Sam, can't we?"
I didn’t answer. I couldn't.
We gathered our things in plastic bags, and left.
Copyright © 2006 Steven Hoadley
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