BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 151 I loved that car! Yeah, it was a piece of shit, but with a difference. It was my piece of shit! Suddenly, I had freedom! I never stopped to think about how I‟d pay for the insurance. The repairs, (lots of those). Gas, (my friends were conveniently “short” a little too often). But, so what? I had a car! I could date. Screw in the back seat, (got that part handled within the first two weeks). Go drinking beer on country roads listening to the radio while we got shitfaced, (first night I had it). Dreams were coming true for Bill Cady. Yeah, they were. But, wait. What about that David thing? What did it get to drive when that magic age happened and it had a driver‟s license? Did that David thing get an old raggedy Ford, like I did? I think not. Worse. <strong>My</strong> folks paid 100% of the cost. That little prick didn‟t kick in a damned dime. His car, however, was “a little bit” nicer than mine. They got him a 1964 Olds Cutlass 442 convertible! With a four-speed! A damned dream car for that little asshole, all for free! Silver with a black top, black interior, bucket seats, and all the goodies. Little prick! Of course, he wasn‟t so little by that point. Matter of fact, he was bigger than me. He eventually maxed out at six-four, about two-twenty until he got older. That meant he could kick my ass now, right? Again, I think not. He never even had the balls to try. He may have been a bit bigger, but he still had no idea how to fight. Knew it would be nearly fatal for him if we ever went nose to nose. In all honesty, I have to admit I picked on the little bastard all his life. Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 152 When my folks bought him, I wanted the little asshole returned, but they wouldn‟t do it. I honestly had to wonder, when it came to my cat or that David thing, why they even had to think about it. I saw it as a no-brainer. Even then, when that David thing was sixteen and I was eighteen, I was still in favor of putting it to sleep. Admittedly, I knew it‟d gotten so big it‟d take us all damned day to bury it. It was way back then when I first gave that David thing a nickname. In the beginning, I called it “Davidilyo-dum-doglo”. No idea where my youthful mind came up with something so stupid. After a couple years, it became “Triple D”, then just “Trip”. That version worked better than all of „em, and he never caught on as far as avoiding it. There were more conversations than I can imagine that went just like this. “Trip, Trip.” “What?” “Trip.” “What?” “Trip, Trip, Trip.” “What, Goddamnit? What the fuck do you want?” Then I‟d ignore him and walk away. That damned idiot would follow me, trying to find out why I called him. Hell, the only reason I ever did it was to piss him off, but he never saw that angle. Smoking. That‟s another one. Ever since Richie Opdyke helped me get started, I‟d been, (and, unfortunately, still am), a smoker. So, what happened when we got caught? Oh, that was different, too. I had to skulk around, acting like I didn‟t smoke to avoid repeats of the huge ass Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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