The French Gent

Irish Housing Frankie Desiree was an outlaw and an honorable man of some reputable repute. He wore a wide black brimmed hat when he went to the saloon or to the bar. The ladies swooned over him for centuries and honestly, he was an abstract of time. I met him several times and was always impressed. I can say for certain that I knew him many times. And perhaps it’s a good time to tell you I’ll share. Thank you. He lived in tenement housing in the rich part of the downtown. Mind you he wasn’t dirt poor but his finances left something to be desired. He often rode a horse or had a car, or when he lived in the country he had a big old beat up truck. He could shoot guns and wore a pistol. He was good with a sword and had the back to prove it. He was a slim build but a massive man and he wore his heart on his sleeve when he met a lady he liked. The old brownstone I’ll tell you about was a hundred years before he moved in. It was 1968 and the village was pumping out starlets like the el Camino he was driving. It had gold rims and a carpet on the dash with a mirror. He rode it every Friday to the local roadhouse at the edge of town like his luck had always run out. He partied, and played pool for money, and danced the night away after sitting down for a big steak. In the summer he put a mattress in the back of the bed. They always left him their number. When he wasn’t out fishing or hunting, he rode his horses to the detriment of many. He would gallop like a wanton criminal stealing pies off the windowsills and take gas and money. He robbed a few banks by the age of twelve and spoke kindly to the judge when he was apprehended. They tried to hang him but he had a few friends. And after he spent the majority of his time in the mountains. He stayed away from prying eyes and put food on the table time and time again. I met him once in 1567 when we were on a small flotilla in the south of France. He was eating stinky cheese like it was no tomorrow and the crackers were a bit soft and the bread had a touch of the mice. We sat down on the small deck and rode the boat with something sweet made of corn mash. I talked to him in his big wig and stockings and explained the modern era coming to him. He took it with a grain of salt and devoured the entire luncheon and drank the three bottles to my one. Man, was he a good sailor. The cowboy era was his favorite. He held on to his wide brim hat and rode into every town from here to Delaware. They tied him by his feet when he stole and try to quarter him when he killed. Everybody knew he wasn’t very catchable but they tried and failed. When he grew old they called him Billy the Kid and he wrote and starred in the movie. I wasn’t an always exceptionally kind person and grew a little soft in the end but he will always be my favorite. I spoke about a brownstone he lived in. It got raided in the spring of ’69 and he did ten years in the state pen and never spoke about it. He came out and bought a big Harley Davidson and started on the gears and wore greasy leathers and always drank a tankard before you’d started breakfast. I accepted him as a biker and was always impressed that he could get the girls in the crowd to flash him their tits. He rode up and down the interstate and had many a scrape and didn’t like Johnny Lawman too much. Frankie had the leathers on when he met Jackie. She was a fine dame with an ass too match his bike and spoke in a French accent that he liked. When they got together and bought the bungalow in the outskirts of town there was a big celebration. She got her picture taken for a magazine called Easy Riders and he bought her a pool to show it off when they moved to Californai…