Devil Eyes, Forced Labor & Reincarnation

OK so I find myself with my brother-in-law on my day off, cause it's like I got nothing better to do, in Brooklyn at the high rise apartment of a cousin, let's call her Priti, cause that's her name. I just want to get this over with. So I briefly make with the nice talk and head straight for the damned television. It's as big as Priti's apartment. "She's a chick!" I think to myself, "What the hell could she be compensating for?" "Let's go" I tell the brother-in-law and attempt to lift the Titanic of televisions. It doesn't move. We look at each other with amazement and give it another try. Nothing. Turns out it weighs as much as the Titanic as well. I give a glance, a glare, no I attempt to kill Priti with a cold stare who offers a sympathetic, "I took four really big guys to get it up here when I got it."

I'm not the superstitious believes-in-reincarnation type, but something came over me the minute my eyes met hers. Priti's a good looking woman, tall slender, cover-girl face with almond shaped eyes that most men fall into. But, I'm experienced baby. I've looked into eyes like that. I fell in. I've wrestled with the devil, married her, got my ass kicked, ended up moving a TV from a high rise apartment in Brooklyn. If you look, not into their eyes, but beyond them, deep inside, a rotten core of a soul lies laughing at your misery. I'm not superstitious and not making any accusations. But I'm just saying that I'm certain Hitler didn't die in that Berlin bunker in 1945. He slipped off to linger in some Peruvian jungle until death took him at the exact moment Priti was born.

I couldn't decide who I hated more; my tight-ass 140 pound muscle-lacking brother in law for dragging me down there or the gender shifting Nazis of a cousin. Honestly, she could have called to tell me something like, "Look George the damned thing is as heavy as the Queen Mary with a full contingent aboard. I'm just gonna tell your in-laws that I accidentally broke it and have some big guidos haul it out of here." But she didn't.

We decided to roll the big behemoth of a TV onto the luggage cart we commandeered from the lobby. Did I mention it was a high rise apartment? The doorman told us we had to use the freight elevator at the end of the hall. We used the nearest elevator and slipped off to ground floor and onto the street. Priti followed and we both waited at the curb while my brother-in-law got the van. At least I waited in shirt-sleeves as the temperature plummeted. Priti, on the other hand, after 30 seconds, decided it was too cold, bid me farewell, turned and headed back inside. I couldn't get my hands out of my pocket quick enough to physically express my one-handed sentiments. The van arrived and we struggled to roll the set into it. The piano-like-weighted set fell over on the entrance ramp to the interstate and broke the case, but miraculously not the tube. We arrived at chez-in-laws two hours later and struggled again to get the set inside. My mother in law complained it was too big, it was broken, it should go up stairs...". I'm not superstitious and I'm not making any accusations, but my mother in law was born in 1945. A lot of fascists died that day.