Frank

The first day I met him Frank told me about his prostate infection. Coffee, which he loved, made it worse. Then he told me about his wife leaving him. “There weren’t enough steaks in the fridge” he said simply. She thinned down, spent all his money, and ran off with the fitness trainer. The trainer was a big, big guy but Frank said he’d take him. He wouldn’t kill him though. He’d bite off his nose or part of his cheek, so that every time the trainer looked in the mirror he would think of Frank. Frank wasn’t even sure they were fucking, but Frank didn’t like the trainer. He had snubbed Frank once when Frank had tried to be helpful regarding a problem with the trainer’s car.

Frank also said he would murder his wife. This was certain. He would kill her. We would read about it in the papers. He remembered finding all the sexy lingerie and asking her where it came from and she had lied to him. Imagine that, the woman he had been married to since 19. She wouldn’t even wear the lingerie for him. Imagine that. He would kill her slowly and it didn’t matter if he went to prison for it and it didn’t matter if their two daughters had no parents. “There is no greater feeling than killing someone who deserves to die,” he said. Frank was bankrupted now and living with his parents. He picked up pennies and accepted clothing from the other night workers. He said he was planning a great comeback, he had a five year plan. Frank said he’d be living in a 4000 square foot house in the suburbs by then. He was sure of it.