Snake

Be I not the sharp deadly shot who I most assuredly be, if that cowboy didn't lose the tip of his little pinkie near the first knuckle not in a kitchen accident nor coming off a bike. (The amputations and limps one sees on all sides round Geylang can only be bike accidents.) For not showing the bros on the street and the surrounding lorongs nuf respect. Younger days that'd be. Greenhorn wild-boy back then. Snake along the heel of the hand it looked first glance, stretching up the pinkie. Unique. Only an opponent would get a bird's eye view of a picture like that. Was it's head cut off with the blade? Just nicked the snout? the spitting tongue?... Couple small eels it might be on second look, wriggling up the hand. More than the first knuckle maybe, though the fingers bent leaning the chin just then. Young fella did indeed doff the cap going by weren't no mistake. And other pictures further up the sleeve too. Wears long to keep it all under wraps now, even in this weather. Mid-late thirties. Almost under the footbridge up from Aljunied crossing. Tough-town hereabouts, from a short age ago. Cleaned up now. Sometimes you see an old fella with his shirt off carrying the history of the docks and sailing days over his back and up and down arms and legs. Comparative gentlemen now on the container ships. Back street hard boys in little remnants still. The sweetness of the boy here not very far beneath one can see. Hiding under the table now it looks like. Knows everyone, youngsters and elders. Shaved on the sides, grown-out on top. Kindly face, knows better now. Takes heck of a time for knowing to rise from the heels of the feet up to the brain, the oldies used to say. Suspects observation from the white guy, the stranger. Right intact, did him a favor there.