When I was playing in blues bands around the Boston area in the 70’s, we had a favorite tune called, “Killin’ Floor”.

The term comes from the Chicago slaughter factories back in the day. When a cow was designated for destruction, it was brought out on to the killing floor. It would just stand there helplessly and wait for the end.

Not a place anyone wants to be.

When my relationship was ending, I needed a little mercy. I wasn’t gonna get it. I felt that lonely, helpless, hopelessness in my bones.

I realized after all of my generosity and trust was expended, I would be left standing naked and vulnerable while someone carelessly dropped the hammer on me.

Leaving me defenseless and up against financial predators and legal buffoons. Life’s a bitch. And has a name.

Right now I’m on the killin’ floor. And I will take care of this business in this life, or the next.

You better hope there ain’t no next.  🙂