Every group of
fellas has
a runt. For some
reason, it
was always me.
I always
had to drive, or
pick up the
leftovers, or
clean up the
mess. Every group
of fellas
has a King o’
the Mountain,
too. I lived in
fear of a
bad word or look
from Jimbo.
Until that day
I saw him
playing the runt
to those guys
at the garage,
trying to
weasel his way
to a job.
I s’pose we’re
all someone’s
runt, and someone
else’s King.