. promise between his legs .

He stared at his seven year old son, and then at the half-emptied glass of flaming whiskey in his hand. He listened to the clinking of ice, and with half-crazed eyes looked for an exit sign.Frantically seeking a four lettered escape; simple, red and glowing, poised above a doorway telling him it was ok to run away. Half-crazed, angry eyes. Running dry, and blinking hard. Running dry, because a man doesn't cry. "Boys don't cry". Father telling 7 year old someday father to get back on his bike. "Just ride your bike, don't you worry, one day the piece of flesh between your thighs, grown phallum, grown excuse shall learn to lie. For you. For all your unshed tears, and fears gone tied. Omnipresent man in all your comings, your eyes shall never water like mere mortals' do. Ride. The six inch gash below your kneecap shall one day have its time."