Monday, April 13, 2015

Respect? Respect this...

"Respect?" the one called Mr. G. said to the two armed guards before pulling back his sleeve.  "Respect this, Jack and Jill.  You think I got these numbers etched into my arms at my kids birthday party?  No!  This is a token of surviving for three years while I watched friends and family get sent to their deaths.  Throughout the day, I would always wonder if I was inhaling them when I choked on the crap coming out of the smoke stacks.  I played it smart for all those years to make sure I wasn't sent to the gas chambers and made damn sure to pull everyone I could out of there.  Now you tell that to your precious Don in there and see if that's worthy of his 'respect.'"

Both guards stared at him for a long moment, their expressions blank.  Then one of them turned and walked a fair distance to talk into his earpiece.  Finally, he came back and faced Mr. G.  "The Don will see you now."

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