Joey’s doing better in school.

“I bring up one C+ and I’ll have A B honor roll.” He says as he pulls a ten, a five and I don’t know how many dollar bills out of his pocket.

“Where’d you come up with all that cash?”

“Pops. And he says there’s another fifty in it for me if I make the grade report card day.”

“Son,” I ask. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”

“You know the answer.”

“The weasel?”


About joefingas

I am a songwriter, poet, blues singer, and a boogie woogie piano player. I have a grandson but I have no children of my own. All my women have wised up and left me. I was a bum, a wino, a drug/alcohol counselor, a prevention/intervention specialist and a pretender. I have no more time to pretend.
This entry was posted in Blues, Love, Memoir, Money, Parenting, Poetry, Relationships, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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