Today is another one of those days when I think I might be dead. I'm pretty sure time isn't moving, or maybe it's just fluctuating back and forth. All I know is I need some cigarettes and I need some vodka. I think the meat industry can wait.
I break the seal on my plastic flask of vodka before I'm even out of the store. I should be a poster child for broken dreams or some shit like that. There is a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Wait, there's a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Why the fuck is a little kid in this part of town selling fucking lemonade on the side of the road? Well I've got vodka, he's got lemonade, let's get this party started. The kid says it's fifty cents but my hands are too cold and my motor functions too degraded to actually grab anything out of my pocket. The kid realizes the futility of his business and tells me to just take the lemonade, I oblige.
I sit around all day, just like every day. My buzz is wearing off and I'm getting a mid-day hangover, just like every day. I know what I'll do to break the monotony, maybe today will be the day I finally die.
Something wakes me up, it's dark, my head is on fucking fire and the compressor to the meat freezer has shut off. The power's out. What's even worse, I'm laying in an ice cold bath tub, I'm surrounded by floating empty beer cans, like all the countless messages sent off in bottles never to be found, never to be heard, to drift alone eternally or sink to an icy grave. I can taste gun metal in my mouth, my gums and teeth hurt from clenching around the barrel of a .45, and I'm perfectly fine, alive and breathing. God damnit.
Well I've stumbled out of the tub, into some dirty clothes and all the way to the fridge. It's completely empty, not a drop of alcohol in this fucking house, just the fumes on my breath. Without thinking I find my way outside.
I think it's pretty late at this point. It's below freezing, there's sleet, and I'm in wet pajamas. Look at me. The power's still out and every store in town is closed. But Jesus Christ, there is silence. My ears and eyes are open and neither can detect a thing. This is beautiful. This is the first time I've found any kind of joy in this town, maybe even in my life for that matter. But all of a sudden I am thrown to the ground. Sharp pain shoots through my body as my moment of clarity shatters into hundreds of pieces. I feel like I was looking into some mirror and it cracked, the crack spread and sprouted like a tree, until the every piece fell to the ground, leaving me god only knows how many years of bad luck. Some dark hooded figure stands over me trembling. He says some shit about the government being after him and disappears into the darkness. I am stone sober; I'm on the cold, wet ground and I am unable to find where I just was. I am pathetic. Out of nowhere I'm in the spotlight. There is some car in front of me shining headlights straight in my face. I now realize that I am in the middle of the road. I step out of the way and a gray minivan slowly pulls past, like the looming side of a freighter while I'm stranded in a life boat. Some thug inside points a gun at me, I close my eyes and pray for my final bang. But when I open my eyes again I am alone. I am left once again to my silent, blind serenity.
I am alone.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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raining, but nobody in this town seems to notice the rain or...well...anything. I think it is the abundance of alcohol. I have to say that I did alright picking this place. Nobody would have expected it from me. I don't drink.
ReplyDeleteSloshing drunks aside, people are hypocrites. When the line is black and white between "social drinkers" and alcoholics, you know it's polite society bullshit. I heard some cop at work today telling the other parking attendant not to give some drunk his keys. I say, if the disgusting idiot wants to kill himself around a fucking tree, let him. Nobody here would notice anyways. They certainly wouldn't say anything about it. That's the other thing I love about this town: everybody minds their own business.
"What the hell was that?"
ReplyDelete"It's the aliens!"
"The power's out!"
"Say, you got light over there, Dave?"
"I can't even see my own hand in fronta my face!"
Kandie was getting cold and starting to sober up. As she passed by the Wilshire Tower to go back to her stash at Jorrie Rae's the doorman came calling after her. He wanted more. This is where Kandie takes advantage of her men. After five minutes the doorman agreed to buy her a new handle of Boston's and let her stay the night at his place. By 11 o'clock she was drunk again. This time the doorman was too. He followed Kandie all the way down Mercy, onto Katz, and into the Royal Motel. As usual room #12 was vacant and unlocked. Kandie loved this room. It had no windows or curtains, but it was free. Only very few dare go in this room. After kicking away the clothes on the bed from another's stay, Kandie continued where she left off in the bathroom. Then, once again, when things were finishing up, the two heard a loud scream. Even Kandie stopped to satisfy her curiosity. There lay a figure in the middle of Katz Ave. with a gray van stopped right in front of it. The night continued like every other night. Sleeting rain banging against the tin roof filled the background noise. The doorman lived up to his agreement with Kandie and took her back to his place in Wilshire Tower for the night. Kandie was once again gone before he woke up the next morning.
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