02/12/01

First place I go look for the fucking beagle is on the Palfrey farm, but he’s not there this time. Didn’t see little Milady around neither. Ask Porch Rot how the wife is doing. He says couldn‘t say. Said some young Mexican guy showed up and she ran out to the car and took off with him in a hurry. He said maybe it was her brother. Anyway, Hiram says he hasn’t seen or heard from her since then.

Dumb fuck.

Dog was found later in the housing development down the road--- near the house of that punk kid I’m supposed to stay 1,000 feet away from--- the one I caught in the act not long ago spray painting gang tags up on my silo. Damn dog’s penis is swelled up inside a fluffy white lap dog. They’re stuck together out there on the fancy fucking lawn, one dog pointing East, the other pointing West.

The owner is flipping out on me saying she’s gonna sue me.

Dog rape, she says it is.

Let’s put the recriminations aside for second and help me pull these two apart, I say.

Anyway, I finally get back to the trailer after waiting for the damn dog’s pecker to shrink down and I get this asshole mafia guy stopping in, says he knows someone in the Wallkill Prison who can help protect my son Rocky from getting his skull cracked in, all I have to do is pay him a thousand dollars. I didn’t know what to do. I really don’t have a way to pay that kind of money, and I tell him so. He asks me if I had anything of value to give him instead. I tell him I’m living on pennies a day. Eating oatmeal three times a day. Burning wood in the wood stove to keep from freezing to death. Barely able to keep fuel in the pickup truck and the tractor. The son of a bitch looks me over real good, gives me this menacing look, and then marches back to his swanky mafia car.

Fuck Head.