Streetlights
The cramps were back. A small scream came when the van hit the raised sewer; blue-white knuckles gripped the big pizza pan wheel. Jesus, riding this old horse always made them worse. Rubber bands twisting and tightening across her hips. Every month they got worse, like that bastard, Charlie Cramps. Charles Stanley Wigginton IV, better known as Cramps, was the lizard prince of some hoity-toity north side family of shysters. But he became the King of the Silver Dollar instead, sitting all day on his barstool throne. Messy and painful 24/7, even the regulars hated Cramps. Holding court with his highball glass scepter, he delighted in barking orders and chasing ass. It didn’t matter who the ass belonged to, if it was in the house, it was fair game. One night, a girl shoved a tampon in his mouth, but it didn’t help. The sound kept leaking out and so did the help. The bar, 14 th Gate, was, in his mind, the greatest concept ever. It wasn’t. With Fake antiques a...