Post season college football glows emerald fields in a bar lit by christmas lights and video poker machines. A beer bottle with a sticky bottom and a woman fat too flat on the karaoke machine, a verb makes this a sentence. Are more people flat or sharp and can an ear dulled by nights of kind bud and blared sonic youth even measure? Here is better than elsewhere.
Every subtle movement seduces the eye; a slave to the peripheral I look for her. She wouldnt be happy to see me. Her freshly inked body failed to invite me today; that is a lie, her freshly inked body never fails to invite me. Her mouth, however, lags far behind. We used to come here and she eventually will. I left not to be alone
The old man with no front teeth and a stare more glassy than the pitted varnish of the bar top interrupts my writing. He asks me if I am writing. A short answer has no effect but to goad his tongue into new heights of slurred conversation. He talks of Corona and Budweiser (editors note: MS Works word processor automatically capitalizes Budweiser, but not Corona); my drink and his respectively. He talks of short-waved radio and the old days of the Army. He speaks of women he has slept with and the women that didnt want him to sleep with the women he has slept with. Every attempt of mine to look away is met with an elbow to my ribs. He says, Hey, hey, hey like he has Tourettes and he can tell I dont wish to talk. No one is coming to save me.
I wonder for a moment if the company I have found is worse than that which I was seeking. I wonder why I am here and if a cold beer and loud overheard conversation can justify the drive. The Cheers theme song must lie, because they all know my name; I hope I dont have to be here.
The napkin is covered in cramped script and the beer is a rind in a bed of foam. Short stories are written as they happen. The game I never watched is over and the man is run-up. A furtive text message and my phone is ringing. With an apology and a fiver, I make my exit. The sky is falling in sharp shards of billowing rain. The worn red Honda is picked up and tossed by the gusts; it was not built to be a ship on the sea. I have left. I know Ill be back.
On the way, I see her, passenger in the DDs car. I make it almost all the way home before I call him. Yes, he can pick me up.
Every subtle movement seduces the eye; a slave to the peripheral I look for her. She wouldnt be happy to see me. Her freshly inked body failed to invite me today; that is a lie, her freshly inked body never fails to invite me. Her mouth, however, lags far behind. We used to come here and she eventually will. I left not to be alone
The old man with no front teeth and a stare more glassy than the pitted varnish of the bar top interrupts my writing. He asks me if I am writing. A short answer has no effect but to goad his tongue into new heights of slurred conversation. He talks of Corona and Budweiser (editors note: MS Works word processor automatically capitalizes Budweiser, but not Corona); my drink and his respectively. He talks of short-waved radio and the old days of the Army. He speaks of women he has slept with and the women that didnt want him to sleep with the women he has slept with. Every attempt of mine to look away is met with an elbow to my ribs. He says, Hey, hey, hey like he has Tourettes and he can tell I dont wish to talk. No one is coming to save me.
I wonder for a moment if the company I have found is worse than that which I was seeking. I wonder why I am here and if a cold beer and loud overheard conversation can justify the drive. The Cheers theme song must lie, because they all know my name; I hope I dont have to be here.
The napkin is covered in cramped script and the beer is a rind in a bed of foam. Short stories are written as they happen. The game I never watched is over and the man is run-up. A furtive text message and my phone is ringing. With an apology and a fiver, I make my exit. The sky is falling in sharp shards of billowing rain. The worn red Honda is picked up and tossed by the gusts; it was not built to be a ship on the sea. I have left. I know Ill be back.
On the way, I see her, passenger in the DDs car. I make it almost all the way home before I call him. Yes, he can pick me up.