Getting Fingered

Diary entry: I remember my old friend Bumpy, a kid from back in the old neighborhood, he was really bumpy, he had bumps everywhere, but mostly on his head, we had heard about a phrenologist who was working out of a garage down off Eighty Second Street behind the old dump site, we thought we’d get Bumpy’s bumps read by a professional bump reader because we wanted to know what made Bumpy tick, he always seemed to be sort of a speed bump in our quest for whatever thing we were trying to do, anyway, this old lady head bump reader called herself Madam Fingers, we entered in to her studio and rang the bell on the counter, Madam Fingers appeared from behind a curtain, she held a bent cigarette tightly between two pursed lips, “You boys here for a head readin’?”, we told Madam Fingers that our friend needed his head read, ashes fell from her cigarette as she nodded and told Bumpy to take a seat at a small round table, she began to study his head and said she had never seen so many bumps in all her days as a bump reader, she told Bumpy that his head was an open book, a long and craggy novel with an up and down story line, territory that was so pocked with valleys, cliffs, and gorges, that if his head were the Northwest Territory, Lewis and Clark would have taken one look and turned back towards St. Louis, found the first saloon and said fuck it, anyway, she gave us a lot of good advice that we all took to heart and our friend Bumpy got a blurb written about him in Palm and Head Reader Monthly magazine, we all loved our good friend Bumpy and we also loved Madam Fingers for the reams of wisdom she freely gave to a group of young, raggedy boys from down the road that needed something that no one else could give, well, these many years later, Paulie would like to say “Thank you Madam Fingers”…

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