Cartwright time traveled
to a 7 Eleven on the corner of
Heart Attack and Vine.
There was a series of outbursts,
At first, they thought
it was fireworks,
but it wasn’t.
It was gun play
and the protagonist
was hit in the leg,
which was kind of
Why couldn’t he
have just flipped
and told the prosecutors
Cartwright loved the holidays.
It felt like parole every year.
He used to always end up in the hospital.
One Christmas it was a 5152
Elevated from a 5150.
Once he got there it was obvious,
he shouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere.
“You’re not drinking? Good for you.”
“It’s good for everyone, trust me.
I’m no longer marching on roads of bones
in warrior mode.”
Grandma pointed the ’38
in Cartwright’s face.
He looked away, not wanting to see anymore.
“Here’s how it’s gonna work.” she said.
“You’re going to lie facedown, and wait for the police.”
He did so, closing his eyes.
“Then, you’re going to cop a 5150
and you’re not getting out until you’re
90 days sober.”
As a burglar,
the last thing you want to see
is an elderly naked person.
Especially, if she’s your grandmother.
That’s the end of it.
Cartwright needed some money.
He was already tweaking
when he ran into her in the kitchen.
Naked as the day she was born,
and armed with a snub nosed ’38.
Cartwright time traveled 16 hours.
Came to on the 10, slow poking the fast lane.
A low rider pulled upside and a wild-eyed neck tattoo flipped him off.
Dumb fuck followed in hot pursuit.
The dude was a Golden Gloves champ.
“He didn’t hit me that hard,” said Cartwright, “He just hit me a lot.”
Cartwright got into his Steel Reserve 211 time machine.
Set the dial for “Random Chaos”.
He was greeted with a quick night stick to the ribs.
A square faced crew cut and a his K9 companion.
“Wake up. What are you doing’ here?”
“No, you’re up to more than nothin’, let’s see some ID.”