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Unfortunate Mick – Installation One

July 22, 2009

Unfortunate Mick

I.

Before I begin to tell you the stories of Mick, I must first tell you
That everything I am going to tell you is true.
Absolutely 100% true, in fact.
Ok, there may be slight exaggerations from time to time
But I assure you they are only for effect and do not affect the outcome of the tales.
I tell these tales in no particular order. Some happened early on, some later,
But the sequence of the telling will not coincide
To the chronology of events. Sorry to disappoint you. If you want to read something good,
You should probably read something else.
With this in mind, I bring you the stories of three young friends in
Upstate New York.

It was the late spring or early summer. Depends on how you look at it.
Calvin wanted to pick up some smokes.
Mick was over, as he usually was. This was before the end of term. It was probably a weekend.
We three, Mick, Calvin and I, set off to the corner gas station. It was a shitty station,
Like most everything in that town.
The town where we lived was once a happening place, when the mills were
Still making paper and employing thousands of people.
Nowadays, the mills have dried up, and with them, the town.
The businesses were mostly empty buildings with boarded up windows.
Nearly half of the local population were members of a local church cult.

I won’t tell you more about the gas station,
not because I can’t remember, but
because it’s just not important to the story.

We weren’t even two blocks from Calvin’s mother’s house, walking,
Not side by side, because Mick was too wide for all three
Of us to fit side by side on the
Sidewalk.
So I walked ahead of the others, as I tend to.

It was not long, I came upon a big pile of dog shit.
It was not hidden, not in the slightest. The dog that left this pile was serious.
He wanted it to be found. Well, that or he just didn’t give a shit where he shit.
Or shat.
Whatever. That’s not the point.

The point is this:
“Here’s a nice piece of shit,”
I said, quoting Adam Sandler in Billy Madison , as I tend to,
Whenever I see a nice piece of shit.

I acted as if I were going to step in it, extending my foot just beyond the stinking pile
As it almost scraped the bottom of my Converse.
Calvin moved out ahead of Mick.
He wanted to be sure to clear the excrement, as he tends to, as most people
Tend to.

Not Mick.
But, then, Mick isn’t most people.
As if on cue,
Calvin and I spun around
And watched
As Mick, apparently oblivious to my comment
And Calvin’s blatant overstep of the turd,
Stomped down
Into the pile of dog shit.

It gets worse.

He was wearing sandals.
As expected, his sandal slid off slightly as his foot descended toward
The ground.
Needless to say, the delicate poo nugget wound up where it
Should not have been:
Between Mick’s foot and his sandal,
Smashed into all the crevices of his foot and between his toes.

We don’t call him unfortunate for nothing.

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