(no subject)
It was raining when Harold drove down Los Alamos St. in downtown, his back tires skid around a manhole right before he came to a stop at CJ's Bar. The old door creaked and moaned with the ferocity of a puma as his id was out then quickly back in. He slouched over the bar. The posture his mother told him to correct, but he was at the bar so what the fuck did she know.
She was blonde, or maybe auburn, he couldn't tell because of the lighting. He ordered a pint. She served it well he thought.
"What's your name?"
"Jessica," she said.
"Jessica eh."
She walked away but kept glancing over his way.
He was thinking about his stuttering and why it affected him when he was talking to Christine.
Four pints later and he was twelve pints deep. Everyone says that silence can't be broken, but Harold knew that when the silence was in your head it was nothing more than a waiting impulse for foul behavior.
Jason hadn't shown up yet, it was a quarter past twelve, Harold knew he wouldn't show.
"Anything else to drink partner?"
"Not unless you got something to cure alcoholism...but in the event that you do...i don't want it."
"You've been staring at me all night, what's your deal buddy? To afraid to ask my number?"
"No, Just to afraid to ask you for a fuck."
She recoiled with disgust, backed away and went to talk to an elder couple down on the other side of the bar. All Harold could hear over the buzz of the Laker's game was snickering and "what's his deal?"
"What's his deal" Harold thought to himself, can't she think of a better fucking line, or at least a change of words. But it went on like that until two a.m.
After Harold got kicked out of the bar he picked up a hooker...drove home and the rest of the night was a blur.
"Jessica...what the fuck did she know..."
"What?" the hooker said looking up from his crotch.
"I wasn't talking to you."
The rest of the night was a blur.
She was blonde, or maybe auburn, he couldn't tell because of the lighting. He ordered a pint. She served it well he thought.
"What's your name?"
"Jessica," she said.
"Jessica eh."
She walked away but kept glancing over his way.
He was thinking about his stuttering and why it affected him when he was talking to Christine.
Four pints later and he was twelve pints deep. Everyone says that silence can't be broken, but Harold knew that when the silence was in your head it was nothing more than a waiting impulse for foul behavior.
Jason hadn't shown up yet, it was a quarter past twelve, Harold knew he wouldn't show.
"Anything else to drink partner?"
"Not unless you got something to cure alcoholism...but in the event that you do...i don't want it."
"You've been staring at me all night, what's your deal buddy? To afraid to ask my number?"
"No, Just to afraid to ask you for a fuck."
She recoiled with disgust, backed away and went to talk to an elder couple down on the other side of the bar. All Harold could hear over the buzz of the Laker's game was snickering and "what's his deal?"
"What's his deal" Harold thought to himself, can't she think of a better fucking line, or at least a change of words. But it went on like that until two a.m.
After Harold got kicked out of the bar he picked up a hooker...drove home and the rest of the night was a blur.
"Jessica...what the fuck did she know..."
"What?" the hooker said looking up from his crotch.
"I wasn't talking to you."
The rest of the night was a blur.