Flash Saturday, not even proof read in Flash Friday

The death of Jonas White made about as much sense as anything; not much. I could tell you how it happened, I will tell you how happened, but that’s not making sense of it. It might make it coherent, it certainly makes it predictable though I see no great skill in making the past predictable.

He was stabbed twelve times in a bar fight. A man gets stabbed twenty seven times and it’s personal it’s a crime of passion, somebody really hated the son of a bitch. A man gets stabbed twelve times, that’s just stubborn. One good thrust up the rib cage and into the lung is a quick and humane stab, kidney is a good shot too.

A bar fight. A guy cheats at pool, cards, hits on another man’s date, Is another mans date, motherfuckers exchange ‘Motherfucker’s ‘ someone picks up a chair and someone else picks up a gun. That sort of nonsense makes sense.

Jonas was arguing with a guy over bar nuts, mixed bar nuts, salty mixed bar nuts. No one remembers which position Jonas took, either that they keep getting refilled and emptied into some crusty bin, and drunks paw over them, drunks with bad livers, drunks who put their dicks through a glory hole, who don’t wash their hands, butchers, mechanics, knackermen. Someone took that position the other’s position was ‘Free Food!’

Why the guy brought a knife into the bar and argued either side of that argument makes the same kind of sense; none. If I knew that guy as well as I knew Jonas, which is to say I would have known his name and recognized him with a nod then looked for something else to be busy doing, I might have a guess as to his motives. I doubt they’d make any more sense.

Someone knew him, adds are someone did. If they came forth to defend or apologize or buy a round of nuts for the house, nobody told me about it.

I picture a graveyard somewhere where all the stones read the same thing; What the Fuck? And, sometime down the road when things got cramped and land and time becomes more precious, all the stones read WTF. In a million years when the dinosaurs dig up our bones they’ll try to make sense of it. Dinosaur archaeologists will. The rest will say things like “I don’t know about humans, but these ones give me great gas mileage.” Hmmm, some might say “But it’s a dry heat.” You know why? Because most shit makes as little sense as Jonas White’s death.