Le prisonnier

And so he sat in the cell that was solitary, and not the solitary of the card game, but the solitary of endless reflection and rememberance of things past that were better things, when the money was there, and the clouds of nine ladies catered to him.

He remembered the tower of trump, and the limos, and the waiters that were obsequious in hopes of a tip to fund their little lives, lives that existed only to serve such as him and only him, who were given the earth as dominion.

The cell did not exist, nor could it exist, because he could not be imprisoned by a boy of a judge who cared not for appeals and for the Tifford's arguments, but instead defied law and justice and sent him to these rough surroundings.

He knows those who oppose him, the bashers of F.A.K.E., and those who envy the Bentley, and the houses in the sky that god has granted him as he should. They are small, and not worthy of his boot heel, or the drippings from his scrotum in the heat, although tyrone is much desirous of them and they are sweet on his tongue. The roaches swarm in the darkness, and the light of the righteous will scatter them as the leaves scatter in the winter storms, or in the tornadoes that afflict Dallas and other places in the hellhole of the midwestern counties.

If only Danner would come, and he could be liberated, and see the western park, and the circle of columbus, even the oak bar at the plaza and the 14 dollar burgers on the AMEX.