Chump Change by David Eddie Read Free Book Online Page A

we can drink as much as we want. Supposedly, old man Lawson doesn’t care, there’s tubs more of the stuff in the basement, along with a shitload of canned food, in case, you know, some bad shit goes down, like a nuclear war.
    Which is sheer genius, in my estimation. I mean, lots of people stockpile food in case of the unthinkable, but how many have the foresight to load up on booze? And yet, trapped in your basement for years on end with your friends, family, and neighbours, what else would you want more than as much booze as you could possibly drink?
    And unlimited smokes, for God’s sake, and books, and paper and some pens. That’s what I’d want, anyway.
    I’m fielding questions about my sojourn in New York. At first, I try to downplay the seamier, more sordid and/or embarrassing aspects of my adventures in the city. However I notice as theconversation continues Les gets the biggest kick out of stories where I “come a cropper,” as they used to say: where I get double-crossed, outfoxed, beaten, cheated, chumped, conned, and flat-out fucked over. So, what can I say (I’d do anything to provoke that savage, childish laugh of hers), I play it up to the hilt, adding plenty of embellishments, ladling on lots of lumpy gravy. The conversation turns to my various New York street-dealings. In New York, I bought nearly everything off the street: shirts, shoes, socks, batteries. Mostly in search of bargains (you can never shake what’s bred in the bone), and I scored a lot of those. However, on the other hand, I was also burned frequently. Once, I bought what I thought was a VCR but turned out to be a shrinkwrapped VCR box with a rock taped inside, to give it weight. Max, Les, and Sam all get a big kick out of that one.
    “Who knew?” I asked. “Who would guess that a shady street-dude would have a shrink-wrapping machine in his basement?”
    “HAR-HAR-HAR!” Les says. The way she laughs, it’s like she can’t believe anything so funny could ever happen to someone else, and that she’s alive to hear about it.
    “I even bought a tree on the street once,” I said. “A huge ten-foot-tall tree.”
    “What? At a stand?” Les asks, trying to compose herself.
    “No, I was going out for some milk, down 26th Street, and I walked by this guy dragging this big tree along the street, in a planter. He drags it five feet, then stops, drags it five feet, then stops. As I pass by, he says, ‘Yo. Plant. Twenty-five bucks.’ No thanks, I tell him. But on the way back from the store, I pass by him again, and he’s still dragging it along. He looks up at me and says, ‘Twenty bucks. Check it out. It’s healthy, man. Feel the leaves. Just like plastic.’ I touch the leaves, and I have to admit that they are just like plastic. Very impressive. Wehaggle, I get him down to ten bucks, and he’s got to help me get it up to the apartment.”
    “It’s almost too big for the freight elevator, we have to stuff it in there kitty-corner. Finally, we manage to get it in the apartment. I’m getting out my wallet when it suddenly occurs to me that I don’t know this guy. He’s a tough guy from the streets, he could tie me up, saw my head off with a butter-knife,
grate
my face off with a cheese-grater—”
    “Dave!” Samantha says, laughing.
    “The next thing he could be selling on the streets might be my kidneys, or my liver.”
    “I don’t think he’d get much for those items, Dave,” Max interrupts. “Maybe as a scientific curiosity. The pre-pickled liver. No need for formaldehyde, it will stay preserved in its own brine for centuries.”
    “Anyway, nothing happens,” I continue. “We complete the transaction, then as an afterthought I ask him where he got the tree. A shifty look crosses his face and he says, ‘Well, I do some work for this guy, right? And sometimes he pays me in cash, sometimes he pays me in, like, plants and stuff.’”
    Max, Sam, and Les all get a good laugh out of this line. Max grabs the bottle