A great man once said, “We live and die by time.” Another said, “I am a meat popsicle.” But who has time to watch movies? Listen to music? Read the works of Marcus Aurelius. And write my own manuscripts. I got my boys. On Braxton’s Time, Virgil.
Saturday, June 1, 2024
Tale 336 ~On Braxton’s Time, Virgil~
Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now… Or I would be if I did everything I told Braxton about. 1217 Days? Geez, Louise!
Who am I talking to, Lady Lunalesca? Better yet, what am I trying to say? And do I have time to say it? Again, if I go back three years ago and some change. Change? I can’t forget about the money. Can I afford to say what I want to say? That’s the thing my son “B” is priceless. And the other one? What, “V?” He’s still waiting for his time to shine, Lady Lu.
Dime, Crime, Time. The rhyme…
But no, Lady Lunalesca, I’m not trying to be a rapper. A hip hop artist. What about a repairman? Between DISH Network and everything being broken around here… A veterinarian? Well, Virgil is alive, but not Braxton. An adult star? Please! Anything for a dime.
When “I need a dollar, dollar. Dollar, that’s what I need.” Whether rhyme or crime, I gotta get mine. So, what crimes have I committed so early in the day? Well, other than wasting time. And we’ll get to that, Lady Lunalesca. But there is one thing I’ll never forget.
My son is dead. Euthanasia.
One of the reasons I’m talking to you so early is that PetSmart opens at 9:00 a.m., and V needs food. Now, wasn’t I out yesterday? And I didn’t pick Virgil up any? THINK Man!
“Is it a Crime?” What, to be so lazy, a loser, and let’s not forget lewd. On “X” earlier, Lu…
I was looking up pictures of Sophitia from “Soul Calibur.” No time for adult passions.
Am I classifying myself as an adult? A great man once said, “I am a meat popsicle.” But this is not the time for jokes. The earlier I get to PetSmart, the less likely I’ll run into the people from whom I adopted Virgil. 658 Days of his life wasted with me. Times a beast.
Yesterday, that’s what popped into my head. The five months I’ve trashed coming into my fortieth year on this Earth. If my favorite number (snickers) is 15. That’s how old Braxton will always be. Then the worst number is 40. Time enough, at last, Lunalesca?
You’re asking me for what? I don’t know. If I could be a father again. A rich fiend. Have a family. On Braxton’s Time, Virgil.
1217 Days Without B III, Day 658 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will