Monday, April 22, 2013

Into the Breach

I checked the mirror. I would definitely have to lose the Bermuda shorts and flip flops, but I wondered if I had the right outfit and accessories for this soirĂ©e or if I’d have to destroy some work clothing to get the job done.

As luck would have it, my two week old jeans were right where I’d dropped them, half standing of their own volition against the west bedroom wall. I could have gone with the shirtless look, all the thugs were doing it, just skin and jacket and call it good; but I decided I might need bandage material and rather than wearing a corpsman toolbelt with assorted gauzes and tape, I selected a clean t-shirt that could be ripped into squares if necessary.

Then the colors, the low top cowboy hat complete with doggie choke chain and authentic squirrel tail, the pointy toed shitkickers, the fingerless black leather gloves, the skull rings, Harley primary chain belt, Vietnamese tasseled armband and spurs.

Finally I slipped my one and a half inch open end wrench into my belt, my stiletto into my custom boot compartment and a 9 ounce sap into my jacket wine pocket.

I took one last look. I was hoping to intimidate a few adversaries into finding another target. If I were many of them, I’d back off from what faced me in the glass. Gang wars though were such a crap shoot. Sure as hell I’d show up dressed for bear and they’d show up with an elephant gun.

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