Pishwaugh and the Prizefighter

My unfinished 2004 short story, Pishwaugh and the Prize Fighter, needs some love. Here’s a taste, mostly to remind myself to pick up the thread and actually take these characters somewhere.

* * *

In a little while, O’Malley came back into the bar and took a stool. “It’s all fixed,” the little man said.

“What’s fixed?” Pish replied, regarding him carefully.

“The match. I’ve got it all worked out. ”

The barkeep caught Pish’s eye and, with a nod, set two fresh glasses on the bar. Pish raised his and in a movement, emptied it, eyes damp. O’Malley made a small noise above his whisky, cupping the glass with two hands in the manner of someone warding off chill. The extra exertion seemed to work, as in a moment he brightened visibly and said “Farth round. He’ll take a knee.”

Pish considered this news for a moment and thought that the odds were only slightly better. “Will he come out punching?” he asked.

The little man appeared perplexed. “He’s his father’s son, now isn’t he?”

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Pishwaugh and the Prizefighter

In a little while, O’Malley came back into the bar and took a stool. “It’s all fixed,” the little man said.

“What’s fixed?” Pish replied, regarding him carefully.

“The match. I’ve got it all worked out. ”

The barkeep caught Pish’s eye and, with a nod, set two fresh glasses on the bar. Pish raised his and in a movement, emptied it, eyes damp. O’Malley made a small noise above his whisky, cupping the glass with two hands in the manner of someone warding off chill. The extra exertion seemed to work, as in a moment he brightened visibly and said “Farth round. He’ll take a knee.”

Pish considered this news for a moment and thought that the odds were only slightly better. “Will he come out punching?” he asked.

The little man appeared perplexed. “He’s his father’s son, now isn’t he?”

Read All...