Oh, lust for life, where hast thou gone?
So, I work at a hotel that has a hole-in-the-wall bar attached to it. Lyndsie and I have become, against all reason, fond of this bar. Petty drug deals take place in the bathrooms, there are holes in the walls by the three ragged pool tables, the drinks are more soda than liquor, the clientele have only a few of their teeth or are construction workers from out of town, Windows Media Player substitutes a DJ, the tables are always sticky, and it stinks of stale cigarette smoke and beer, even in the middle of the day. My boss can be found in there every night of the week sipping Bud Light he poured out of a bottle and into a cup. Did I mention that he sips it with a straw? He does.
Every time she and I go to the bar, she attracts some semi-descent looking country boy of no less than 6 feet to buy our drinks and breakfast, should we stay that late. Tonight was no different, and we were only there for a few minutes. Actually, I was the one who got this guy to come over. Of course, I did so because he's a regular from out of town who I have to run out of the bar every night after last call. He never gets drunk, but his crew members do.
Well, tonight he was all about Lyn. They always are, and they do try so hard, but they usually fail without there ever having been a real hope of success. This tickles me beyond belief because I am the one who taught her how to stonewall without eliminating the free drinks. I must admit, though, that she has become somewhat of a monster who is drunk on power. She has become a country version of Kali, drunk on the scent and shedding of fresh man blood.
To watch her play with them is more entertaining than anything I have ever seen in a bar. They find her to be an enigma without knowing why. She plays cold, but she does so with a smile that makes them think of naked flesh. This reminds me of days gone by, when I was the one drawing them in and casting them away at the same time.
I remember how to do it. I taught her. I just don't feel up to the game anymore. Watching her play almost wears me out, and yet, there is a part of me that longs to play, to taunt and tease, to wound with a look or a word, to drive men to the edge of madness and leave them there.
I remember why I quit playing. I remember playing. I remember being that young and carefree. I am drawn to wondering when it was that I became old. When did I become so set in stone as to no longer have the desire to play, nor the energy to do so should the desire return? I suppose that I could find both were I willing, but the willingness is yet another thing misplaced.
CJ and I were discussing this very subject two nights ago. Not only have we become set in a place of mere and mild complacent comfort, we have become so accustomed to this place that we no longer allow the borders of said comfort to be breached.
At my age, such would be almost acceptable. At his tender twenty-two years, it is a sad thing. He is far to young to become so afraid of letting others near enough to feel anything. I fear that he will become as I have if the situation is not changed quickly.
I am not offering to change his mind for him, nor would I presume to do so against his will. I am, however, lightly suggesting such at every other opportune time. I can only hope that he finds his way out of his fear and learns to love life again.
Let us all pray, for to lose such a spirit so early in his time will surely affect the world as we know it with the most dismal of outcomes. Has the world not become a dark enough place? Indeed, I fear only midnight from now on.
Every time she and I go to the bar, she attracts some semi-descent looking country boy of no less than 6 feet to buy our drinks and breakfast, should we stay that late. Tonight was no different, and we were only there for a few minutes. Actually, I was the one who got this guy to come over. Of course, I did so because he's a regular from out of town who I have to run out of the bar every night after last call. He never gets drunk, but his crew members do.
Well, tonight he was all about Lyn. They always are, and they do try so hard, but they usually fail without there ever having been a real hope of success. This tickles me beyond belief because I am the one who taught her how to stonewall without eliminating the free drinks. I must admit, though, that she has become somewhat of a monster who is drunk on power. She has become a country version of Kali, drunk on the scent and shedding of fresh man blood.
To watch her play with them is more entertaining than anything I have ever seen in a bar. They find her to be an enigma without knowing why. She plays cold, but she does so with a smile that makes them think of naked flesh. This reminds me of days gone by, when I was the one drawing them in and casting them away at the same time.
I remember how to do it. I taught her. I just don't feel up to the game anymore. Watching her play almost wears me out, and yet, there is a part of me that longs to play, to taunt and tease, to wound with a look or a word, to drive men to the edge of madness and leave them there.
I remember why I quit playing. I remember playing. I remember being that young and carefree. I am drawn to wondering when it was that I became old. When did I become so set in stone as to no longer have the desire to play, nor the energy to do so should the desire return? I suppose that I could find both were I willing, but the willingness is yet another thing misplaced.
CJ and I were discussing this very subject two nights ago. Not only have we become set in a place of mere and mild complacent comfort, we have become so accustomed to this place that we no longer allow the borders of said comfort to be breached.
At my age, such would be almost acceptable. At his tender twenty-two years, it is a sad thing. He is far to young to become so afraid of letting others near enough to feel anything. I fear that he will become as I have if the situation is not changed quickly.
I am not offering to change his mind for him, nor would I presume to do so against his will. I am, however, lightly suggesting such at every other opportune time. I can only hope that he finds his way out of his fear and learns to love life again.
Let us all pray, for to lose such a spirit so early in his time will surely affect the world as we know it with the most dismal of outcomes. Has the world not become a dark enough place? Indeed, I fear only midnight from now on.