April 15, 2012
Larry Gargleman, another free-write from the ninth ward, knew he had to get inked and dried — no, not even dried — and advent bettaed within three minutes. He smelled the film of the burnt fat Dale brewed up while he was at the movies. All the windows in the house open to the patter of a gentle rain, airing out the house. The smoke alarm on the kitchen table, its nine-volt battery excised, telling the story. The movie was awful; he’d gone because he likes martial arts. This was brutal. Mayhem. Don’t see it. “The Raid: Redemption”; now this.