Fire in the belly

A small town could steal a life. Dennis is a small town man. He’s lived in one all his life. He’s been to Florida a few times. New York is just a day away, but he hasn’t really felt a need to see it. He tells me that he’s never been on a plane.

Dennis is a good man. He takes care of over two hundred units. Mine is one. He works all the time, gets no holidays or insurance from his work. He tells me he paid over six thousand dollars the last time he went to a hospital. That he took a beating on that one.

I ask him why he isn’t the property manager. I’m not good with numbers, he tells me. I suspect he never had fire in his belly. He’s never needed it. He’s hustled all his life, uncomplainingly. I guess he didn’t think it was a big deal. I guess he just didn’t see it all. A small town can do that.

I’ve never had great fire in my belly myself. I am efficient in my ways. And there were things (and there still can be) –

“With the things you could do, you won’t but you might
The potential you’ll be that you’ll never see
The promises you’ll only make” (Between the Bars, Elliott Smith)

I feel a small speck of some fire lately – in a light sort of way. I hope that I have the hustle for it.

You see, – I’m an idea man, a story man, a man with a song,
on Whitechapel, the hero turns the light switch a 150 times
I have my own creations –
I check my locks and gas – should they move, but how?
spit, lightly, 4 sets of 11s when I pass a cross on the road
a good 3 set needed, but I do the 4th to back the first 3, just in case
I kiss my wife 4 sets of 11s as well

I can do without these –
You see, I’m a steady man, an incisive man, a man with a mind.

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