The Fatigue Worsens

 

In the late 90s I had a customer come in. He’d flown in from South Africa

a couple days before on business. During our meet his cell goes off and we puttered

around chattering among ourselves and priming the coffee machine while giving him 

some privacy to talk on the phone.

In the background, Buddy is spitting and cursing into his phone. He tells us the story

when he gets off.

On his way home a few weeks before, two blacks tried to car jack him. Somehow they got in the back

seat with the idea of putting a knife to his throat, have him drive somewhere safe…

and then slit his throat and make off with the car.

So he shot them. Both. There was some damage to the car body, the rear windshield got shot out, 

Holes in the upholstery. What had him so mad was the body shop making the repairs called.

I guess the brain juice had stained the leather on the seats and it would have to be replaced.

Zero remorse, no survivor’s guilt whatsoever. He shot both of the baboons with the same

dispassion that you or I might have for popping a coyote.

I can see how such attitudes shape up.