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The Legend of Eddie and Lola

by



(page 3 of 8)


“Sleep!? We can’t sleep, Eddie. When you get a great idea you gotta act on it right away. I heard that somewhere. If we go to sleep somebody else is gonna do what we shoulda been doin’ while we was sleeping, ya know?”

Eddie wasn’t sure exactly what it was Lola was saying, but it sounded wise enough, so he couldn’t really disagree. “Okay,” he said after a moment, “I guess you better get me another beer.”

But Lola was in the other room. Eddie could hear her opening and closing drawers and throwing things around. “Eddie, where’s your shotgun?” She yelled out.

Eddie was in the kitchen now, opening another beer. “My shotgun?” he repeated absently.

“Yeah, Eddie, your shotgun what daddy gave you last Christmas, the one you was gonna use to shoot old lady Johnson’s dog with.”

“Oh, that gun...” Eddie said, thinking about old lady Johnson’s dog and how badly he had wanted to shoot it. “It’s in the closet, I think, up top. Behind the magazines.” He stood in the kitchen and listened to Lola rummage through the closet.

“Did you ever shoot that dog, Eddie?”

“No,” Eddie said, shaking his head to himself, “I never did shoot that goddam dog...”

Moments later Lola stepped out of the bedroom with Eddie’s shotgun. She stood in the doorway and posed with it in her hands. “How would this look on the front page of the papers?” she asked. Eddie stepped out of the kitchen with his beer. He looked at Lola posing with the gun. She looked good, with her cut-off shorts, his t-shirt and the gun. She looked like a superhero. She looked like she should be on TV.

“Pretty good,” Eddie said.



40 minutes later they were parked across the street from Henry’s Liquors. They had packed some clothes and whatever else they could fit in the back of their Datsun. What they couldn’t fit they left behind in the trailer. Lola had written “FUCK YOU” on the walls of the trailer with her lipstick in very large letters. Eddie had thought it was a pretty good touch. They were never going back to that trailer again.

It was late in the afternoon now, and it was starting to get dark. Eddie and Lola sat in the car drinking whiskey and putting the final touches on their master plan. “Casing the joint,” Lola called it. They argued for a while about weather or not they should wear masks. Eddie at first had thought it would be a good idea. But what kind of masks? Ski masks? Nobody skied much in Kansas, so the accessibility of ski masks seemed rather limited. Halloween was months ago, so masks in general were probably in short supply.


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About William Taylor Jr


William Taylor Jr. lives in San Francisco. His latest collection of poetry, Broken When We Got Here, was released by Epic Rites Press in 2013. The Blood of a Tourist, a book of new poems is forthcoming from Sunnyoutside Press in November 2014. Right now, he should be sleeping, but isn't.

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