Nerves

I haven't been this nervous in a long time. I'm losing sleep and smoking more cigarettes than I do when I'm drunk. I get sick to my stomach and have a hard time eating properly. I've lost weight, sanity and a few hair follicles to be sure. The good news though, is it will all be over Monday.

That being said, the bad news is it could all be over Monday.

Two months ago today I got jumped by two thugs at the Marathon station less than a mile from my house. I ended up with a crushed right cheek and destroyed right eye socket. My eye was sinking into my head and my sinus was fractured. I got a nice ride to the hospital in an overpriced ambulance and spent the night in the hospital. Thanks to the marvels of modern plastic surgery, and a damn good doctor, I now look about the same as I did the day before it happened. I've got a fancy new indestructible titanium cheek and an eye-socket implant I need to have replaced on Friday. I lost some wages (and some hearing) and gained some pretty expensive bills (and a semi-permanent black eye), none of which are things I can't handle. Shit happens. It always has and it always will, but that isn't what worries me.

What worries me is the subpoena that I found taped to the door of my apartment complex last week. I am hereby summoned to testify in the case of the State of Ohio v. Tony Adams (the one thug that they did catch). What's the big deal, you ask? The big deal is that he is a gangster, a drug dealer and a fucking piece of shit waste of skin with no regard for human life. How do I know this, you ask? I listened to him laugh as he repeatedly punched my nearsighted ass while I searched for my glasses on the parking lot asphalt. I listened to him tell me not to come back or the next time would be worse. I listened to him tell me I was lucky.

By this point it should be apparent why I am worried. What would this shit hole do to keep himself out of trouble, I ask myself while lying awake at night? What would his little fuck face gangbanger inbred fuck friends do to keep him out of prison, I ask myself as I suck down cigarette after cigarette? What happens if........

The questions are never ending.

So I go to court on Monday, hopefully to put this fucking cunt in jail so someone named Bubba can send him to bed at night with an ass full of semen and blood. I'm hoping someone can make him feel my pain and my terror. I'm hoping he can hear the sadistic laugh of someone way worse than he. I'm hoping someone beats his face in. I'm hoping someone stomps his head on the ground. I'm hoping someone turns him into a pulp...shit, I'm hoping someone kills him. Painfully.

The problem, however, is that I have to get there first.

You could say I'm overreacting and that nothing will happen, I would tell you to come and look at the neighborhood I share with this degenerate fuck. I would tell you to come look at the conditions he grew up in. I would tell you to come look at the drugs they try to sell in the morning at the gas station. I would tell you to come see the gang signs they flash or the graffiti marking their territory in the neighborhood I drive through to get home each night. I would tell you to put yourself in my shoes, think about what taking a bullet would feel like and imagine what bleeding out on a street just blocks from the courthouse would feel like.

Yeah, so maybe I'm overreacting. It is very probable that I am worrying myself for no good reason. The odds are so stacked in my favor, nothing could possibly happen...right? Well come spend a day in my life and see what luck looks like to me...or doesn't for that matter. If all I have to be lucky about is him and his shit fuck friends not beating my ass harder then they did, well I don't consider that lucky at all.

I've got a long streak of fucked up shit that has happened to me in the six and a half years I've lived in this asshole of a town. I just pray that it ends Monday.