Greasy George

Greasy George was a few years older than most of the other homeless kids.
(There were two Georges, the other one being Drunk George.)
Greasy George was 24 and had already done a four year stretch in state prison.
He was short and bug eyed, with an olive complexion, and long hair that was always shiny from pomade, kept back in a ponytail.
It wasn’t his hair that led me to me calling him greasy though.
It was his soul.
He talked with a black accent and had the look of a guy that you just couldn’t ever trust, no matter how long you knew him.
I was with him one day and we ended up walking past his parent’s house.
His dad was in the driveway working on a car or carrying in groceries or something,
I can’t remember exactly.
His old man looked like a redneck or maybe a truck driver. Flannel shirt, ball cap, blue jeans, work boots.
Greasy approached his father and timidly said hello.
His dad stopped what he was doing and went into a boxing stance.
“You worthless motherfucker, I thought I told you not to come around here no more!”
George looked sad, on the verge of tears.
The old man started beating on him, raining punches down on his son. Geroge never even tried to fight back.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Geroge was known as a pretty tough guy.  Not someone you’d want to fight.
He finally got away, wiped away his tears, gained his composure, and then started laughing.
“Yo man that shit was funny!”
I don’t know what he did to his family to get that kind of reception, but I felt a little bit bad for him, he seemed like a scared little kid when his dad was boxing him.
He sure could take a punch though.

2 thoughts on “Greasy George

  1. A good friend of mine remembers stabbing his thug (professional killer) father in the leg at the age of five. Both lived. I always admired John’s pugnaciousness regardless of the odds.


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