He pulled down his pants and he was no longer trapped, her behavior and his habits were made for each other... like a Roman, he would take pleasure before he did his political work, for the masters across the river.

It was time, he pulled down his pants and he was no longer trapped, her behavior and his habits were made for each other... like a Roman, he would take pleasure before he did his political work, for the masters across the river.

He would offer suggestions, then put down his glass, waiting for the girl to fill it again. Everybody knows about this guy but nobody knows his name, his muddy background was made complete by the C.I.A. way back during Vietnam, but hes not done yet, the boys across the Delaware needed another favor, before the vote Tuesday.

Just the night before he made the arrangements and now it was Saturday, some booze and pussy, a little down time was in order, he could afford it again.

It was a strange feeling, he suddenly felt in charge again like he felt doing work for the C.I.A. all over the world. He was compelled to help these people, these politicians, these public criminals, those sons-of-bitches that talked to poor people like they were giving a sermon in fucking church...

He reached into his faded jeans and pulled out another hundred dollar bill and tossed it across the table at the topless waitress, bouncing her way to prosperity.

"Thanks Dad!" that's all the black chick said, everybody always called him Dad, it was his short military grade haircut that gave him a tough look.

He took a cigarette out of his well worn t-shirt and used the old fashioned wooden matches he always carried around, they were waterproof and it mattered to him.

He had unlaced his high top tennis shoes about an hour ago before he drove across town for his pleasures.

His descendants were Negro slaves from Africa and as GOD as his witness he would always offer a blessing for the poor white son-of-a-bitch he was about to kill.

He learned it in Vietnam, Army training was good but it was a Marine that taught him how and what to pray before you killed some bastard for money, it was better that way, GOD understood that some men belonged in hell so he would pray that GOD let his victim in heaven, maybe avoiding hell's fire, deserving or not he would say... and then send him along.

His faded t-shirt revealed two words in small black letters on the old shirt "faded pride" as that was the name of his motor boat, seventy five feet of freedom, docked less than eight miles away on the Delaware River, fueled and ready, enough food for three months, medical supplies, modern technology for navigation and communications with weapons and ammunition galore. He was ready.

He glanced at his watch, tapped it on the fake glass to make sure it was ticking, his military watch was wind up, never needing a battery, it kept perfect time, it was jungle green, dark African green.

From his waist down he was still naked as his lady friend bounced up in the wooden chair across from him trying to wipe his puddle off her tit's and trying to slip her shift back on as other people watched.

She was overwhelming, and was worth the hundred bucks he tossed her for the job, suffering no change was worth it.

He didn't say a word to her, he just stood up with his manly Johnson still hanging strong and pulled up his jeans, it was time to go, because his watch said so, it was military time.

Like a chapter in a book, he turned the page, drunk from a dozen beers, he stood straight for a second gaining his balance when she began to speak.

He slapped the bitch.

"Don't speak to me bitch"

He did not believe in comforting a whore.

He did not believe in suffering with them.

He believed in saying grace before every meal but not over a whore that just sucked him off.

It was a strange world the old colored man lived in, he would chuckle going out the door, it was two in the morning with a little cold rain, it was the perfect time to kill again and just like the apostle Paul, he would thank GOD for this endeavor and that it would be done in his glory, in the name of Jesus Christ, with gratefulness the old man mumbled "Amen" before he got on this bicycle and peddled toward the river.

.

.

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Say Grace with me,

Ask for peace before you meet the maker,

and be thankful that the time is allowed,

honor the lord before you die.