Brodie's Last Stop

Life After Dingo. A Guerrilla Literature short story, conceptualized, written and published 6/12/26.

Jun 13, 2026

Ya’ hear the fried chicken spot does country fried steak now? They talk about them baby boomers being the ones to piss everything up the wall but steak at the chicken shop? Them new kids are spoiled for choice and if they don’t have the choice they sure as shit make changes until they do. All in the name of progress I s’pose.

“Hey Pedro, pack of smokes and make it pronto.”

Just found out my brother died. Ain’t seen him since eighty-seven when I met Betsy and we moved down to North Carolina.

“$4.79, the fuck you mean $4.79 boy? These things used to be two dollars flat!”

Progress, I s’pose.

“Gimmie some of them Rhino pills, too.”

Haven’t touched a cig or fried food in about as long but now everyone’s dead and gone? What the fuck am I living for anymore? Looking after my health for who? Damn, this chicken sandwich is like heaven.

I wonder if I can still smoke on the bus? Probably not, can’t smoke nowhere anymore. I heard you can’t even smoke in the street out California way. I’d be screwed out there because I’m going to stand here and suck down this whole damn pack. Dingo and I used to stand out back of Pop’s bait shop and chainsmoke like a couple motherfuckers, one after another, talking about making it out of that place and getting it with some fine pieces of ass. At least we both managed that.

He called me in tears when his Sheila died, bubbling like a goddamn baby. I tried to get him to come down and stay with Betsy and I but he was hard headed. Told me that he didn’t need none of my charity like we weren’t family. I guess that’s the way it always was, Pop made us work for everything we ever had, even the dinner on the table at the end of the day. No work? No chores? No food.

I tried calling him when Betsy died, it would have been good to go see him and clear my head, but that sumnbitch never answered. Never called back either. Filled up his answer machine with one “Hey, it’s Brodie, could really do with a talk if you’ve got the time. Love you.” after another until all the space was gone.

All the space is gone.

Still, they said when they found him he’d been living in a rubbish dump. I s’pose that place wasn’t rigged up for phone service. A damn rubbish dump, Dingo? That was better than coming down, swallowing your pride, and spending time with your own brother? Dying in a goddamn tip? Sure does a lot for a man’s confidence.

Of course, here’s the bus just as I was about to light up another smoke. If there’s anything that gets a bus to show up it’s lighting a cigarette. I could already see the “No Smoking” signs on the windows, forget that, I’m sure there’s a shitter on there that I can spark up in.

I hobbled up the steps and the cock-eyed driver scanned my digital ticket. Originally I had planned to bring cash but the man on the phone said they don’t do that anymore. I never imagined a world where people don’t want cold hard American dollars, but I was living in it. Betsy would have hated it. She couldn’t work the damn microwave let alone use the internet for something. That’s why we made a good team, me and her, she’d tend the garden and mend the clothes and I’d cook the meals and do all the technical stuff.

After shuffling up the aisle and finding my seat I was less than thrilled to see I was stuck beside an old boy who should have booked himself an extra space for his gut. My seat was on the inside. Luckily this leg of the trip was going to be short, I could stand being pressed up against the window for an hour or so, then hopefully I’d get some breathing room.

“Hey tubby, jiggle over and let me sit down will ya.”

The man grunted, rolled his eyes and then scooped up his flab with his arms so I could get by. What else was I supposed to do? Climb over him? People can’t stand it when someone tells them like it is. If you’re a two ton Tony and you’re in my way, I’m going to tell you to shift it on over.

He didn’t get off at the next stop. In fact as the trip rolled on I seemed to be learning more and more about Gordo. Bus after bus, story after story. I wasn’t happy that I was stuck in my seat like a sardine in a tin but Lord, as time ticked on, I was glad for the company. He told me that he was going up north to visit his daughter, she had gone to university in Toronto, learning to do some science shit that I couldn’t make head nor tails of. Plus, when I went to sneak a cigarette in the bathroom, he didn’t say a word. That’s a good man right there.

Eventually, as the sun dipped below the skyline and night was well and truly on its way, I pulled out the Rhino pills from my inside pocket and stared at them. Who the fuck was I trying to impress with these things? Off to deal with the affairs of my dead brother, a happily married man with Betsy looking down on me, and there I was sitting with some convenience store dick pills in my hand? Who was going to fuck me? I turned the packet over in my hand and laughed. Twenty damn dollars. This was classic Dingo behavior, he’d have asked if I was planning on chasing some Maple Leaf poon when I got to town.

“Chasing poon my ass, at my age I’d settle for a woman who still knows how to work a television remote.”

Christ, I missed him. Missed Betsy too. I looked over to Gordo who had already pulled a strange sleeping mask over his eyes and was lightly snoring, like a car left with the engine purring, and there I was all alone again.

I looked down at the Rhino pills and shook my head.

Betsy would’ve called me a damn fool.

“At your age?”

At my age, darling, I’m not dead yet.

And as I stared off out the window, I swallowed one down.