May Gumbytron heap blessings on you and yours

Pops’ uncle used to own the building outside of Huckabuck that
he’s lived in since he got out of prison the first time. He’s
got no running water in the place but has a toilet that he
flushes with a bucket of water and Pine Sol once a day.

Pops gets his water from his mother’s house next door. (She’s
been in the nursing home for about 6 years and his brother,
Mike owns the house now. Mike doesn’t live in it though, he
likes to stay in his little, red, Mexican-Schwag-slinging shed
in the backyard.)

I’ve hung with Pops and partied with him for a long time and I
can tell you, when Pops drinks (which is whenever he can scrape
together 10 bucks for a bottle of Kessler’s), he likes to tell
stories. And he doesn’t mind repeating them either, which, if
you had known Pops as long as I have, would add up to a rather
impressive amount.

A story I’ve heard often is one of his childhood stories. As I
had mentioned, Pops’ uncle ran a gunshop next door to the 2
bedroom clapboard house Pops grew up in with his four brothers
and sisters. He grew up around guns and as a 10 year old, he
took some bullets from his uncle’s locked gunshop and gathered
his brothers, Mike and Rog, along with a couple of the
Neighborhood Nuts in his back yard.

I can’t remember if his parents were away or simply weren’t
paying attention but the little hooligans were in that back
yard standing the bullets up on the hard ground and hitting
them with hammers. Pops did most of the hammering (he would
often remind me he was a little hellion) and had the misfortune
of catching the first successful bullet through his right cheek.

Now that I mention it, his parents must’ve been home or nearby
since they had heard the gunshot and ran to the backyard then
rushed him to the emergency room. Pops still thinks about the
scar on his cheek, I guess that’s why he likes telling the
story.