# 501 in a series of posts

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eddie otto was born on
the mean streets of your town.

back when the streets were tamer
but by no means park like.

he lived by his wits and fists
or by whatever means he could.

you have seen him off
and on your whole life.

sure sometimes he was
away and out of sight.

like the stint at the
Q for instance.

but he was always there
sitting on a curb.

or the guy at the store
in line in front of you.

or sticking that pistol
in your ribs the night
you got car jacked.

sure he is older now
maybe not as spry
or recognizable
as he once was
but still
if you looked at him
and the mind was allowed
to remember.
well shit yeah
i know this guy.
crap.

does he
remember me?
if i turn around
and try to act
like someone
just called
my name
from somewhere
behind me
i wave and go
the other way
maybe he won’t know
it’s me.
will he?
or do those kind
of people
remember or forget
their victims?

god
has it been that long?
can he be out?
wait
they never
found him.
just the wrecked
burnt out hulk
of my car
over in shiteville.
fuck me.

you are immobile.
your feet failed
you now.
it’s like you are
stammering away
at your dad
again
a 16 year old kid
trying to weasel out of
some damn
thing or another.

then there’s a flash in his eyes
and a flash in his hand
and a pain like no other
ever in your life.
on your back
you see the stars moon
then nothing.

the only thing
left is
blood pooling
on the
sidewalk
as your life
is
bleeding out.

eddie otto is
already
around the corner
into the wind
once again.
taking the streets and
alleys like only
he can.
to his place in time
and space
in your town.

jmh

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