Dutch by Dirk Kortz

The ol’ boy downstairs humps his walker a few inches b’fore ever’ step he takes down the driveway. Had a stroke his wife tol’ me but she says he’s stubborn as a cocklebur and won’t let nobody else git his mail.

I been here about a week now and I’m gettin’ the idea Florida is some kinda graveyard place that old folks head for when they turn gray and wrinkled as elephants. I still got mosta my hair and summa my teeth so I don’t plan on this being my last go-round but I’m gonna stick around fer a bit an’ enjoy the comforts of Dutch’s fancy digs, maybe do some fishin’, maybe find me a part-time girlfriend fer the duration.

Dutch has him a fine computer here which, believe it or not, I know how to use from that time I spent at Kilby. I logged onto a local neighborly bulletin board sorta thing and have been making some connections. Wrote a few back and forths with a nice lady who wanted to know if anybody was wantin’ some free kittens but she cut me off when she seen where I wasn’t really in the market fer no kittens. Another lady was lookin’ fer somebody to replant her roses and clear off some brush. She looked pretty good in the little picture but I can’t see gettin’ into no work deal just now.

When I come to Florida, I thought I was gonna be spendin’ some time with my ol’ pal Dutch but we got to celebratin’ a little too much the night I got here an’ Dutch tumbled off the balcony of this here condominimum an’ broke his neck. A dam shame what with this fancy livin’ arrangement he had himself fixed up with here. It ain’t likely the landlord is gonna be aware of Dutch’s deparchur from the premises fer a while an’ you can bet I ain’t gonna be the one to tell them neither.

There’s another lady here wants to know if anybody knows where she can buy a good electric fondue pot which don’t sound like my kinda gal at all.

Dutch an’ me wasn’t always best buddies ‘cause he give me a hard time more’n oncet when we was on the rig. Sometimes we was pals and sometimes he maybe liked to think I was his punk. Then he’d alus make it up somehow and we’d get along again. You jus never knew which Dutch you was goin’ to be talkin’ to when you woke up ever mornin’. Anyways, you got to do the best you can cause you don’t always get to choose yer company on an oil rig. Time he quit, I stayed another two an’ a half months but we was on good terms then and made plans to get together some time, maybe even partner up on some kinda job. Meantime, while I was still workin’ my ass off, Dutch scored him some kinda sweet deal and got this place here so there wasn’t no need fer him troublin’ hisself about any job right away. Maybe invitin’ me down here was his way of makin’ up fer stealin’ my stuff ‘cause, see, later that day when he quit the rig, I come to find out he took my money, my cigarettes and my only copy of Hustler with him. Like I say, you never could tell with that boy but I figured there wasn’t no point in holdin’ a grudge. Fact we both had a good laugh about it jus b’fore he slipped off that balcony. Not sure what to do with the body now but I got it stashed in the broom closet for the time bein’.

I still ain’t got aroun’ to doin’ any fishin’ but Dutch got himself a brand new bass boat that’s tied up down at the dock an’ I might jus’ take’ it for a spin today. Nothin’ like a little fishin’ to clear a man’s head. I figure I better check on the weather first so I got to get up and look out the window again.

Down below, the old boy is on his way back up the driveway with a coupla pieces of junk mail in his fist. His bathrobe is gettin’ wet in the rain and he ain’t hardly halfway home. Guess I’ll wait ‘til it clears up a bit.

While I was gone ta the window, some smartass put up a note that says he’s got a talking dog fer sale. I tell him he’s full of shit and he writes back that I am mistaken. All the same, he admits the dog’s vocabulary is small and his grammar ain’t entirely up to par. I let him go ‘cause I see a post from another neighbor lady, this one reportin’ somebody’s chicken she seen scratchin’ in her flower garden. I’ll have to ast her if it looks like one a mine.

Dirk Kortz

Image: Silver coloured American style mail box from Pixabay.com