Vardeman, David - April Is The Cruelest Month

In many regards, this seems a continuation of “Tramp On The Street” from An Angel Of Sodom.
The usual barflys cluster at Uncle Miltie’s, where sitting is preferred.
“Uncle Miltie’s is not a place where people stand. We prefer our drunks seated.”
At the noisiest table, one of the cronies is absent. Eddie. The quiet Eddie. The Eddie who strangled his mother before blasting his brains out.
Around the table, slurred mouths express theories, opinions.
Why? How could he? Do you think? Will this impact us – meaning, me?
Miltie’s is a dump, the regulars are assorted failures, more sodden with each pitcher of beer.
For every stray nugget of insight that spills from someone’s lips, the remaining dribble is drivel.
If you enjoy following drunken warbling, inebriated boasts, and a brawl of misunderstanding, then crack this one already, junior.
If, however, you prefer to drink yourself to stupefaction by your lonesome, thank you very much, then this collection of eightballs might be your ticket to paradise.