December 24, 2002
Christmas was happening so fast it was about to whip Charlie in the ass like a bullwhip. It did hit him in the ass, and that bullwhip snapped like thunder when he took one more gulp from a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was a quick one-two-three. One: take another gulp. Two: fall onto the fresh batch of snow. Three: feel his forehead slap against a newspaper dispenser. And that was it. Christmas came and left. Charlie had been on his way to his ex-wife’s house, not that Simone cared to see Charlie at all. It was over; Charlie died.