Today, I met a traveling jack that said he was going to hang himself. I asked why and he could only tell me he needed new ideas. I suspect he was both sober and unruly. The wind kept blowing my hair around and my seat was too high for giving solid advice so I offered to borrow his rope for a while. 

  James is an asshole. Anyone could figure this out through his ideas, his decisions and worst of all his actions.  When people told him things, anything at all, he would immediately tell others as if he were a playback recording but with ego. A sense of mockery always pervading his tone when he talked about them. If something good happened he would always look for credit, and if it was bad, well, he sure as shit would let as many people as would listen know it had nothing to do with him. James was always negative. He was one of those people you hated to speak to because he would come out of left field with some bullshit comment or a condescending remark. James began a lot of sentences with “It must be nice...”

  Last week as James walked on a dark street after leaving the speedway he turned a corner and found himself confronted with a young boy, probably 16 and pimpled so badly his face actually looked wrinkled, that immediately recognized an opportunity. “Hey man,” the kid said “you spare any change, man? I’m trying to get home on a city bus and I’m a little short.” The kid rubbed his hands on his stomach and shuffled from foot to foot. James smiled and replied “I got nothing, man. I just spent it all on these cigarettes,” as he retrieved the pack from the pocket inside his coat and put one to his lips. “How ‘bout one of those then?” the kid asked.

  James had been waiting for this. He knew it was coming. He spit the cigarette back into the pack and shoved them in his pocket. His eyes darted between the youth, the ground and then the sky before settling back on the kids face. Then, with all of his strength he punched him in the mouth. He had aimed there hoping not to get any puss from the kid’s acne on him. The boy immediately fell to the ground, hard, like a 145 pounds of gravel wrapped in baggy jeans and an extremely old north face jacket. James stood over him yelling “Fucking, fuck you, man. God damnit. I’m just trying to, to, what the fuck ever. Fucking beggar bitches.” The kid shuddered and then clearly began to shake. The tip of his nike shot out touching James’ pant cuff. James thought the kid must be having some kind of a seizure and that he’d better get the fuck out of there before the stupid shit died or something. He lit that same cigarette and continued the last two blocks to his apartment. The butt still wet from before and as he cursed at the soggy cold feeling on his lips he knew he should have just punched the damn kid after the first question.