In Venice, even the drug dealers hug. (Prose Poem)

In Venice, even the drug dealers hug.

Jessica Bennett. NYT. 

I always hug a man before I kill him.

Although I haven't killed anybody yet.

I'm still waiting for the right assignment.

You know, one that means the saving

of Western Civilization.

So far, I've only been offered 

a few jobs bumping off meter maids

and assorted in-laws. 

So I wait, and hug people at church,

at community sing-alongs, when I attend funerals,

and so on.

I am always impeccably groomed and discrete

with the Lilac Vegetal,

so very few people object to my 

hugs. Some really enjoy them.

Perhaps if they knew I was an 

embryonic killer, they might 

feel differently.

I was responsibly sourced

by good parents,

but I turned to the bad

at an early age.

The imaginary film noir.

See, I went to school, did my homework,

and became an accountant, with no

hint at a violent side.

Yet I dreamed in film noir.

So one day I simply walked away

from my QuickBooks to look

for bad things to do.

Can I help it if I look reliable

but harmless? 

Honest and substantial work

is all I can find.

Being friendly and helpful to everyone.

One day . . . one day . . . 

I'll be known as the Hugging Hit Man.

Or my name isn't Fred McFeely Rogers.