Nicholas Flinch

"Look, my mother grew up in this town that now has chickens crossing the road a mile away away from a new--and only golf course. A Jack Nicholas golf course."




"Which came first?"





"The chickens."







"Of course."






"I'm no communist." He circled a cigar around a lit wooden match and quickly inhaled.



"Fidel might disagree."

"Dog, I'm not!"

"I know. But when does it matter that anybody cares 'what you're not'."


"What?"


"Try not to get me to say that again."


"I think my sentiments have shifted."


"What?"


"Sentiments. A emotional thought."



"Of course, but a man smoking a cigar never says sentiments."


Again he inhaled deeply, and surrounded his face with smoke. "I say whatever the fuck I want to say."




"Right. Of course you do. Your a communist."




"You know, I don't care about the uninterested. I don't care that there is gentrification; this city is 5 miles squared and horse shooed by water. Where can they move those people?"




"Is that why you don't care?"




"No I don't worry because...listen I will say 'I don't worry.' instead of 'I don't care' that's inaccurate. So, I don't worry because I believe in helping the willing."


"You."

"Me."


"What?"

"Yes"


"Not the helpless or the handicap?"




"Are you trying to trip me up with this blanket sentence?"





"Its fun making shit up."





"It is just the willing or the unwilling." He pressed his cigar into an ashtray. "Once you become willing there is always someone waiting to take you higher."

"I'm unwilling to pay this check."