Wash Day

     Here I am rockin' out while waiting for laundry in Bastrop.  Slim Rhodes is playing, and I am being a public nuisance.  This is how I wait for clothes to finish cycling.  I never pay to dry them, unless I am wearing emergency (end of the basket) trousers.  They are size 34 and do no justice to my slim hips and arrogant bearing.
     Greg is pissed off because he A). does not like Bastrop and B). does not like me.  One of my readers asked about him and because I told her I will tell you.  Greg was a tough, handsome stud who was cruel to animals.  About 1984, in Fort Worth, he tried to poke a kitten out from under a chair so he could shoot it, and yes, he had been drinking.  He used the butt of a 10 gauge side by side to do so, his great-grandfather's, but it was well-worn and the lock slipped and blew his head off.
      He is now a sub-demon and cannot move on unless he comes up with a replacement.  He picked me because of my demonstrated instability and depressive nature.  Alas for him, aging has smoothed my rough edges and all I have to do is wait 17 years or so and time will do for me, so there ain't no rush, you conceive!
     I am the only one who sees him when he is around, which is not all the time.  My cats can glimpse Greg when he is emotional, because they are half in, half out anyway.  I don't know his real name because Hellspeak is incomprehensible to the living.  Cats are evil against evil anyway, like Pazuzu or the Marine Corps.
     Rock on!

     (Hellspeak and "Half in, half out" courtesy of the movie version of Hellblazer Comics, Constantine.  Why make something up when it has been said so well?  Keanu's best, in this bunny's opinion)!