The Devil in the Details
His nose twitched and he wickedly winked at me. “Come on Big Boy, give it up.”
How much?
“What you got?”
Twenty Five cents. Will that do it?
“What you think, Big Boy?”
I don’t know. I’m from Missouri.
“You certainly are not from Missouri. You from D.C., Big Boy.”
Okay, so how much?
“All the Kings Horses, and all his woooo-men.”
I don’t have any horses.
“You got no woooo-men either, Big Boy.”
So what do you want from me?
“A license.”
To do what?
“Anything and everything: To spend your money; make you pay and pay; mortgage your children’s lives; give my friends what they want; buy your vote; send you packing; tie your hands; and bury you on the lone prairie.
Not much room in there for what I might want. I thought you were on my side.
“What side is that?”
Aren’t we on the same side here? It’s all one country.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Who do you think you are, anyway?
“Exactly. Just check your vote at the door, and get the HELL out of here.”
No. I’m not giving you my vote, and you’re the one who’ll be leaving.
“You can’t get rid of me. I’m in the details.”
I should have known . . . the devil’s always in the details.
