Hamburger Meat Machine

Shouldn’t’ve robbed the bank. Or probably would’ve been better if we thought it out more. Armed robbery, first real offense besides some drunken disorderlys, would have got maybe 10 years, 7 or 8 after parole, good behavior. There’s something wet behind my ear. Blood. And a little bit of brains. Feels like a wet sponge made of hamburger. That’s all we are anyway is hamburger meat. All those synapses firing a billion times a millisecond in order to run this hamburger meat machine.

Sirens in the distance and me down this dark alley. No doors, no metal fence to climb like in the movies. Shouldn’t’ve killed those people. Bill shot the clerk and then the cop reached for his gun and that was it. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. This bag feels light. Can’t be more than a couple grand in there, Bill had the big bag. Now Bill is the hamburger meat I left on the pavement. God never could have imagined man bringing weapons against other men or he would have made us out of stronger stuff. A rifle bullet through the skull is like a baby with Christmas wrappings.

I’ll do life that’s for sure. Good behavior will get me jack shit now. I’m a cop killer, my name will be in a little square beside ‘Cop Killer gets Death Sentence.’ My little picture with an orange jumpsuit and sad, dark face. Mom will probably never stop crying.

Probably will get lethal injection and the way they botch those things now I’ll die in some pretty miserable pain. The sirens are here, I can see the red and blue beating off the dark, night buildings. All the apartment lights are heating up to watch the show.

No show. One bullet in front, out back.