Good night, sweet prince

It’s raining again. I hate this rotten country.

The kid’s slumped in the chair like he hasn’t sat down in months. He looks like he lives with ghosts. I pour two drinks, but he waves his off, taps his flask. “I only drink my own.”

I tell him: “I’ve heard the stories. Treachery. Murder. Poison. Two dead kings, a queen, a prince, a half-dozen others.” I finish one glass, start the other. “It broke bad, kid. Sorry. But they shut the books. It’s the Pollack’s show now.”

“That’s just it,” he says. “That ain’t what went down. The story’s wrong.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: