St. Dismas

There was a man with some of the time and darkness. He stiffed me hanging here, tooth and nail. Nothing more appropriate to pick than a Friday, they figured, and there went my weekend plans. A little frisk, a little song and dance, hurt nobody before, before today. And this fella to my right, muttering himself awake and unconscious again. Something about his father, who left him. The nerve. Look at me, I had nothing and turned out just fine. Well, until recently. Anyhow, I wouldn't want to get his wind up more than it is necessary in a scrape such as this. I'll let him bemoan those paternal affiliations to his heart's content. I'm not a bad sort myself, never have been. And am a man of my word. I require no scholarly introduction and can fit in rather well, rather easily. I can even let myself in, you know, no need to bother anyone. People often have trouble with that. Getting introduced, I mean. At times, you stick out your how-do-you-do and get a stone in your eye at some whistle stop. That shibboleth twang. It happens. Looks like it's going to rain.