Vincennes Street Room Monologue

Vincennes Street was lined with historic old buildings, many with small plaques on the outside brick and stone walls, proudly displaying the high water marks of the 1922 flood that destroyed most of the town. Old man Burnbaum owned a flower shop directly across the street from my high school. He made a fortune from proms and school dances that were at the same location since World War II, and according to him no flood ain’t gonna run him off. He walked to his shop every day of his life from his tiny bungalow on Depauw Avenue, just a couple blocks away. He never owned a car. Claims he never needed one and didn’t understand why anyone else needed one either. Next door to Burnbaum’s Flowers was one of my favorite places - Lucy’s, a four-seater
Stop hanging out doin’ stupid shit.” “Yep.” I said flatly. “If you say so,” I added. “Or I could hang around here all my life and maybe be a fat loser cop.” I knew I was pushing it. But spending the last two hours with an Army recruiter will do that to a guy. “That smartass mouth is goin’ ta git you in trouble.” I wasn’t done with the insults. “Funny how everybody’s been in trouble since Uncle Nobody got you a job with the police department.” He brushed off my comment, “Way it goes.” “Well, it’s time to move on, earn a living, have a dental plan, ya know.” There I said it out loud, ‘dental plan’. I was pretty cavalier about the whole thing. “So you think the Army’s gonna make a man out of you?” “That’s up to me. I just know that whatever I become, it won’t be happenin’ in yer shit town.” He paused for a few seconds, looked me over, up and down, drew a big breath, and spewed out his feelings. “Yep. That’s what happens when y’all git yer high falutin edgy-cations… “Damn I’m tard…,” he started. “Plum wore me out, big day today.” Fat ol’ Cullwell scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and drilled some shit out of his ear with his pinky, which for him was an academic exercise. He couldn’t get this army thing out of his