Dey couldn’t a been friends a his. Not da Chuck I knew.
So, who are dey? Where’d dey round ‘em up?
Huh. None a our old haunts.
Maybe dey came with da church. Sure, de’re some a dose professional criers.
Wit me locked up, Chuck had plenty a cash to make sure he got a tear-stained send off.
Plenty a cash. My cash. The cash I came ta dis berg ta collect.
Maybe his bein’ dead is doin’ me some kinda back-handed favor.
Sure keeps me from killin’ him for my cut of the dough.
A blessing or a curse? Who knows.
If I’d a got to him first, I don’t think I’d a been smart enough ta know da difference anyway.
I’m gettin’ tired a buryin’ my friends.
Especially da ones dat up n die wit’out givin’ me a chance to wring my cut outta ‘em first.
- round ‘em up
- am I smart enough to know the difference?
- burying my friends