The Cure

Man stood on his balcony overlooking the sea, enjoying the breeze, having just finished his regular afternoon swim.

Man’s friend, staying with him after his gall bladder operation, going on 5 days now, stepped beside him at the balcony’s railing and exclaimed into the wind, “Christ jesus god amighty, those evil, malevolent, sinister sons a bitchin’ milk duds with teeth are hellbent on savagery, plopping out my ass like from a nickel gum dispenser, taking their pound of flesh as they exit, rendering my pucker into the rectal carnage of the biblical ages. A veritable bloodbath! Jesus man, I can’t find any friggin’ relief.

Man said, “Charming…. And pardon me for saying, but as of late your record seems to be skipping and stuck, my good chap. Doesn’t bode well.

Didn’t those well paid docs give you anything for the pain med side effects?”

“Sadistic sons a bitches gave me jack”, the man’s friend said. “Hung me out to dry with dried blood all down my leg, flesh grinding turds backed up to east memphis and more on the way. I feel like Little Richard musta felt when he met Madame Oop. I am ripped plumb.”

“Charming”, the man said again. His face suddenly brightened. “But you know what, I think I may have just the thing”, and that said, turned and walked through the open french doors, making a beeline for his well stocked bar.

Like a puppy, the man’s friend followed, a whimpering, hemorrhaging mess, hopeful beyond any hope his friend would provide something of succor, his words premiering a fruitful remedy of any kind, because by this point, even eating was becoming a frightfully dubious task of calculation and risk.

The man opened the smaller fridge behind the bar and extracted his special jar of pitted cherries, removing several and placing them in a highball glass. He then sprinkled some powdered sugar over them and poured some bitters and rum into the glass. In a separate water glass he poured equal measures of gin, roswewater and lime.

The man’s friend watched with a pained expression, unsure of how the current events related to his agony.

The man pulled a welders mask from a drawer, donned it, then pulled out a miniature flame thrower from the same drawer, held up the highball glass ­ cocking it ever so­ and lit the mixture, pausing only to place the flaming glass on the counter. He then picked up the water glass and poured its contents over the mixture, effectively dowsing the fire.

The man’s friend gasped, “What the fuck, dude?!”

The man said nothing, only lifting the glass aloft, swirling the mixture around in the glow of light from the stained glass window, then proceeded to down every drop.

When finished the man placed the glass back onto the counter.

A silence engulfed them.

The man finally said, “There, that should do it.”

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