A Sort Story…
Bennie was sad. In truth he had never really been happy . . . ever. His father denied that Bennie was his son. As Bennie worked it out, “How are you going to point to a man, gurgle and claim heritage by saying “Gugu gaga?” He simply accepted the no daddy comment from his obviously hateful DaDa. His mother was a different matter. He did remember one night with his mother. She gave him a hug and a kiss at the age of five and said “You are my man and I love you.” He wasn’t quite sure, but it fell in line with his other memory . . . of hope.
As he kept at it, Bennie worked when he could and ripped people off when he couldn’t find work. He was arrested twice, and charged twice. They were minor charges. He never had hope and yet he kept working and looking and doing what he was good at: following threw when others gave up.
One day, Bennie saw a classy convertible. The top was down and Bennie could see the keys in the ignition. He decided to take the plunge. He hopped into the car scooted over to the driver’s side and turned the ignition key. In an instant the engine fired up and made a beautiful tune of glory. Crawling out from the curbside was the owner of the classic car who said, “Pardon me, but this is my car. Bennie said, “Sorry, I meant no harm.” The owner pulled out a revolver from his back holster. When Bennie saw the gun come out both his feet went into action kicking the pistol out up and out of the car. Bennie saw the gun coming down and snatched it in midair. He spun around and kicked the owner in the face and jumped in the driver’s seat. Bennie put it in gear but was automatically surrounded by the police.
The car owner looked things over, thought things
Leave a Reply