All I want

is to fucking watch Roman Holiday. Right now.

Netflix you suck dick

Seriously. You have no selection of classic movies. For fuck’s sake, you don’t even have Casablanca. You’re fucking useless. I quit you.

Walker

Walker
Daniel L. Carpenter
5/25/2012

I have traveled so far and so wide,
With so many people walking at my side.
Sometimes I walk in silence,
Sometimes all alone.
But you’re always in my heart,
And where you are will be my home.

There was hardship and disaster,
I saw war and despair.
But I found love and then laughter,
I’ve seen hearts begin to repair.

Worlds collided, and then mended,
Their people coming together.
Lives began and they ended,
And others changed forever.

I’ve been traveling, always moving,
Ever onward, rarely back.
Though it’s painful, always leaving,
I belong here, off the map.

Everybody Go Away

Kindly. Thank you.

Stuff is stupid

Why does shit decide to be difficult sometimes?

Long Weekend

Free ‘till Tuesday! Life is good.

Today

No fucks will be given. Nor shits. Nor damns.

Atticus Leigh

“I’m not sure where you people keep getting the idea that I know what’s going on, or what I’m doing,” the man said, tipping his hat over his eyes as he leaned his wooden chair against the wall. His coat hung from a corner of the chair, his gray vest closed over his white shirt. He had his left leg thrown over the other which was propped against a leg of the table. His left arm rested on that knee, the right on his lap.  He smiled through the cigarette smoke that he blew out as the suit across the table sighed heavily, the one behind him pacing anxiously. Atticus Leigh didn’t show the slightest indication of stress as he exhaled smoke slowly through his nose. He tried hard to suppress a laugh.

“You know who did it though?” one of the suits asked. Atticus shrugged.

“Of course not,” he said. He had a calm but commanding voice and he looked you in the eye when he spoke. It was his voice and eyes that made people respect him, or fear him. They were level enough, but if you knew what to look for, you could see and hear in them the capacity for violence. Atticus Leigh was a man of violence and the cops knew it. Everyone knew it. They just couldn’t prove it. Some of the cops didn’t want to. The one pacing did. The one sitting didn’t. The one sitting wanted to let Atticus do his work.

“That’s a lie,” the walking suit said. He was tall, overweight and his solid jaw covered in stubble. He stank of stale coffee and bad tobacco. He must smoke cheap cigarettes, Atticus thought. Shame.

“Prove it, Jerry,” Atticus said. The man’s name wasn’t Jerry. He’d picked up the phrase from an RAF pilot he’d spent time next to in the hospital in Great Britain, back in the war. The detective cursed quietly, stopping in his tracks, turning to Atticus.

“We know you were there when it went down, Leigh. We KNOW it. You HAD to have seen who killed Teddy Fazio,” the detective spat, putting his knuckles on the wood table in front of them. They cracked as he put pressure, glaring at Atticus. Atticus cocked his head back and to the right, eyeing the detective from under his grey fedora. His sleeves were already rolled up. He took the cigarette from his mouth and let his arm hang toward the floor.

“You’re looking awfully froggy there, Jerry. You might want to think twice before you try and take a jump,” Atticus said cooly.

“You arrogant FUCK!” the cop said, pushing the table roughly aside. He took a step towards Atticus and the other went to stop him. He raised a fist. Then he was on his back, Atticus standing over him. He’d let his chair fall forward as the table had been pushed out from under his foot and hit the cop with a left-handed uppercut straight under his chin. The other cop was on his feet, looking at his partner. He was smaller than his partner and Atticus, and so far he’d been courteous. Atticus sized him up, recognized he was smarter than his partner and sat back down, leaning his chair against the wall again. He hadn’t dropped the cigarette.

“Detective Wilkison, we’re not being recorded are we?” Atticus asked. Wilkison recovered his poise almost instantly, righting the table and his chair promptly.

“No Mr. Leigh, and because he provoked you, I’ll refrain from mentioning this little incident to anyone. Stokes has been needing that for a long time.”

“I appreciate that. I’d also appreciate it if you did not wander anywhere in the South Bend for a few days. I respect the boys in blue and I’d rather you not get involved in his business. I have a feeling it would be ugly for your people, and I suspect the matter will solve itself soon enough,” he said smartly. He spoke well, with no trace of an accent. Wilkison knew him to be from D.C. though, and this he found only through extensive research.

“I don’t think there’s any reason for us to be in the South End. The Fazio family lives mostly on the West Side. That’s where most of our manpower should be concentrated.” Atticus smiled. Despite the serious nature of his face, he had a good smile. It softened his green fighter’s eyes and turned the thin, severe line of his mouth up sharply at the corners. Despite the nature of his work, Wilkison liked Leigh. He chose his targets carefully. They were never good people.

“Am I free to go, Detective?” Atticus asked.

“Yes indeed, Mr. Leigh.” Atticus put on his jacket, took off his hat and extended a hand. Wilkison shook it. As Atticus left the room, Wilkison bent over his unconscious partner. He wondered if he was doing the right thing; letting a vigilante like Leigh walk the streets unhindered. Leigh had slipped up, just barely, for the first time in a year. 

Wilkison had been asked to be part of an FBI taskforce, tracking the movements of a hired gun that had left a trail of bodies all over the country, but after a year of searching, they had come up with nothing. When Wilkison met Leigh, he knew it was him the FBI had been searching for. And he was impressed. He’d told no one. Wilkison doubted he ever would. Atticus Leigh brought justice to bad men. He just got paid for it. That was all that made him bad too. Such a small detail, Wilkison thought, such an insignificant little thing…