At least September only has 30 days
The last check was written. Nobody else was there. The linen envelope crinkled a bit as it was addressed with the credit card company's address.
His calendar was cleared, there were no more entries, and he had no plans. The previous month had been full of events. He looked back through his planning guide day by day. Disaster after disaster dutifully entered and annotated thoroughly explained this bitter day.
The old lady had left the 3rd. Of course, she cleaned out the bank account on the 2nd. On the 4th, the rent check bounced, and on the 5th, the landlord paid a call. The conversation was civil. He explained what had happened. Check after check was bouncing as they talked. The telephone kept interrupting with anger on the other end each time he answered. Finally, he left the phone off the hook, turned back, head downcast, and continued the sob story to let the landlord know he could not cover the bounced check.
The woman had left him. When she cleared the money out of the bank, it left him penniless. She had not taken into consideration the fact that he had already written checks to their mutual creditors. Her name was on the account with him. Why not? She was his wife. Who would have thought she would up and leave? Things hadn't been that bad. She had always been a bitchy woman. Everything was always his fault. The blame game was her favorite activity. For years, it was always his fault. He remembered when the motorcycle policeman had rear-ended his Mustang. She hadn't asked if he was alright. She didn't ask about the cop either. Luckily, he had only broken his arm. She only blamed him for being such a lousy driver. He was glad she had left, but how she left was the problem. It set in motion events that, through that month, ultimately ruined his company.
He didn't know how he could recover. It ruined him financially, mentally, and spiritually. The landlord didn't smile when he explained what happened. He was a hard but fair man. Of course, he understood what happened. Women can be flighty. His point of view was that he needed to collect the rent. If he let him take his belongings, he would likely never see him again, and he was correct. He would not return if he had his stuff loaded in the truck. He walked out the door with a backpack full of dirty laundry. The woman had not even washed his clothes before she ran off.
As the rest of the month counted off. The days spun by with a disaster coming on each date. It was the perfect ending to a business, a relationship, a marriage, a lovely apartment, trouble after trouble. At least he still had his Mustang. It was getting a bit rank even though his gym membership had yet to expire. What a lucky break. At least he had a place to shower. He was clean. Something in the car stunk, but that didn't matter any longer.
All along the way, checks bounced through the month. She had messed him over good and made it permanent. September would go on his permanent record for sure.
With the company out of business and all the employee paychecks bounced, he didn't bother to write the payroll tax check. That was one less bounce to worry about. He knew that he was up to felony level check kiting. It must be by now. He wasn't sure of the penalty but knew it must be hefty. It didn't matter anymore anyway. Finally, a payment came in. It wasn’t enough to cover much. He couldn’t even get his truck out of the AutoPawn. So he didn’t bother. He didn’t need it any longer. Why was he paying the credit card company?
”Screw them, I’m screwed anyway,” and he decided not to mail the letter.
He spilled some CLP on the seat cushion. It soaked into the velour. The smell of gun cleaner always made his nostrils flare. It was a delicious, unhealthy smell. You could taste it on the back of your tongue when you got a good inhale. He rodded the .38 caliber revolver, then ran a cloth through it on the end of his cleaning brush. He wiped the gun off with white paper towels until they remained white, even after a good swipe.
"This would pass inspection." he thought.
Then he opened up the glove compartment. He wondered why they called it a glove compartment since nobody he knew put gloves in it.
He ripped open the new box, dropping some shells onto the carpet. Then he pressed a shiny new round into the chamber of the cylinder. It was uncommon for him to get emotional, but he felt a tear rolling down his chin. At least September only has 30 days.