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Motherfuckerland, Installment 21

(Art by spoon+fork.) When I got off the New Jersey Transit train, Johnson honked twice from his car and popped open the passenger door. “Where’s the old sedan?” I asked. “That was a piece of junk,” he said.  “I think they sunk it in the harbor to give the fish a new place to play.”  He looked me over carefully.  “Have you put on weight?” “I eat more than I used to,” I said.  “I have more money than I ever had in my entire life.” “I hope you’re saving some.  This city eats money as fast as you can feed it.” “You are right about that, man.” “LaVerne treating you right?” “Yeah, I can’t complain.  It’s the most serious...

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Motherfuckerland, Installment 20

(Art by spoon+fork.) A nice suit made me look sharp.  More importantly, it gave me confidence.  I’d never worn anything that gave me such a mental boost, apart from a protector cup.  I got my hair trimmed like Chuck told me, and before we got into the courtroom he took out a comb and tried to run it over me. I flinched and grabbed his arm. “Don’t give me your dandruff, Chuck!” “Hey, it’s not my comb.  I just bought it!” he said.  “Anyway, you can do your own hair, Sean.”  Chuck handed it over and I repaired myself. I got up on the stand and after they were done with the Bible, I got a good look at Mr....

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Motherfuckerland, Installment 19

(Art by spoon+fork.) Chuck worked out a deal for me and they released me to my overheated apartment.  The first thing I did was go into the bathroom and feed my fish. I had been gone almost a week and was mildly worried I’d find him floating at the top.  He seemed hungry but normal.  I ran the water in the tub as I watched him eat.  I turned the fish food can over in my hand and read it for the first time.  I was shocked to see that the top ingredient was “fish meal.” I knew fish in the ocean ate each other, but I thought tame fish were too civilized to do the same.  Would goldfish eat...

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Motherfuckerland, Installment 18

(Art by spoon+fork.) The Jersey newspapers usually run national news in the front sections.  Apart from high-school sports and construction kickback busts, there was almost never any local news. Mr. Angrywall made the front covers of every newspaper that they let me have in my holding cell.  Only his name wasn’t “Angrywall.”  It was “Aggarwal.” He had been growing several different kinds of marijuana in a few of the rooms on the top floor.  Some varieties were new to the law-enforcement community. Which included James O’Keefe.  Turns out that wasn’t his real name.  His real name was Shawn Johnson.  He was a detective with the Narcotics Central Unit of the state.  I found out later that they had put Johnson...

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Motherfuckerland, Installment 17

(Art by spoon+fork.) Andrea Conti wanted to give me a handjob as usual, but I was done with it.  I think those anti-horny jail chemicals were completely out of my system.  I still wanted to jump on Mrs. Angrywall and I was mad at her for having that much control over me.  I guess I was mad at all women. We were standing in the back of the walk-in van. “Let’s not,” I told Andrea.  “It’s all right.  I held on to my zipper and pushed her hand away. “What!”  She nearly dropped the sack of money from the hamburger stand’s receipts. “Everything’s okay.  Just, you know, we’ll unload the food each week, I’ll give you the money, and that’s...

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