B I G

J I M M Y

12/25/16

… knew all the whores on Montgomery Street.

North and West. 

It wasn't that his wife wasn't beautiful, or his construction job wasn't fulfilling or that his seven kids were pains in the arse. It was more that he was addicted to sex with women he wasn't emotionally involved with. Kind of a whore/Madonna complex.

It wasn't that he was totally unaware of all that. He just didn't give a shit. He didn't have much motivation to change – this, or change his moderate drinking or his lousy diet - which gave him some pleasure, or his five nights a week bowling or Sunday football on the town green followed by beers at McCann’s. Basically he had a good time, didn't see the point of being a good or better person- gave tithes, paid taxes on time- would probably have thought - when he thought about it which wasn't often- he would probably die around the same age as his old man- 72. Thirteen more years. Ok. He had a good time. Now he could have 13 more. Until...

He didn't expect the asshole terrorist to blow himself up. No one would expect that.  Jimmy McFarlane was lucky. Lucky Jimmy, his beer buddies called him. Won the lottery - more than once - small amounts. Treated everyone at McCann’s to a round, bought his wife new dresses, the car she wanted. Bought his kids some iPads and stuff. Jimmy never finished high school- was naturally smart - smart enough to have risen to foreman. The guys didn't mess with Jimmy- wasn't so much his big size though that didn't hurt. Was more his way of speaking quietly then when the time came, he'd explode so as no one would or could forget - years later. Nobody wanted Big Jimmy to come down on him. His men did good work not just because they were afraid. They liked the work. Jim only hired guys who liked the carpentry, dry wall, tiling- whatever. He could tell if a kid was bullshitting. He could also tell an honest day's work. Had a good eye, damn good eye for a rightly beveled edge. Was about time Jimmy opened his own shop. His wife was organized, good head on her shoulders. It would be a good little business to leave their seven sons.

Lucky - that is lucky for big Jimmy

that asshole terrorist was directly under him when Jim saw what he was doing. Quick reflexes: Big Jim dropped a ton of wet concrete muffling the explosion. No one other than the asshole terrorist was seriously hurt. Jimmy suffered a few broken bones in his left foot.

Not one to feel sorry for himself, Big Jim got an X-ray, a cast, did the ice and anti-inflammatory meds, PT, missed only a few days of work. No big deal.

Fourteen years later, Big Jim's still working the job, never did open his own shop. No matter. Was still having a good time - every day. Now that he passed dear old fuckin' dad, every day was a gift.