“Calm your nerves.” She had said with those thin black lips rolling over the sarcastic words like they were sweet candies. She was a Swiss talker of the Third Reich, so there’s little else for a Jew to expect.
Her nerves stiff like the whiskey on my breath, laying warm under that puddle of blood—even after two hours…maybe it’s this summer heat.
Nazis act super-human, I guess it’s an ego their born with—they all die the same though.
Don’t get me wrong, most Nazis deserve it—though mostly I’ve been waiting for David to finish turning her into some kind of…art piece? I guess that’s what the monkey is doing.
Saying monkey might not be politically correct and if the Baboon can read my thoughts I hope he doesn’t want to turn my own corpse into a Star of David once I’m underneath my own puddle of blood…
Yeah…you’re not the only one who’s lost.
I found David the Baboon sometime last week, but for the life of me I couldn’t tell you the day. Time goes by like a snowman in the oven when you’re in Nazi America.
They still called me Yo-yo Yigol then…
