Between Nowhere and Limbo
There's a place not far from here where people go when their dreams have died. It's right on the outskirts of town, isolated from the city quite like its patrons, who manifest their desire to be left alone by coming to this supposed 'neutral territory'. A line of Harley Davidson hawgs stand at attention as if waiting for inspection outside the creaky wooden door, which lets light stream through the splintered old boards. Here's a friendly warning, you can look, but don't touch unless you really want your ass handed to you by any one of the Hell's Angels inside watering their throats with a little Jack Daniel's Old No. 7. Best not to order a Jack with coke here either. Let's call it a friendly warning. The weathered stools inside have the rump indents of its patrons throughout the years, who care about the decor of the place as much as they might civil etiquette. Management won't change the stools. They are part of history, he says while blowing a ring of cigar smoke out in your face. A long celebrated history of nothing and insignificance. His long salt and pepper hair reaches down to the small of his back in a stringy ponytail, which hasn't seen a pair of clipping shears since he first heard the lyrics to Highway to Hell.
Ethan Granger sits at the bar and cares nothing about any of it. Dressed in sandblasted dark blue jeans, motorcycle boots and a dark leather jacket that covers the two guns at his waist side and another two in side holsters, he looks like he fits right in and yet, he sticks out. There are no MC patches on his jacket, no colors, no small nod of acknowledgment to the others as they look at him warily when they order their drinks from the bar. The man is his own island. His lips draw tightly over his face after the tumbler of amber liquid burns its way down his throat, coating it like cough syrup. Tastes like a mixture of Whiskey, axle grease and gasoline.
"Nice. Think I could run my car off this?" They were nearly the only words he spoke all evening.
The bartender smirks and fills up his glass again. Now, that'll burn off the skin of any vampire. For sure. Might have to consider weaponizing the brew. Of course none of those words left his mouth, just a appreciative counter-smirk and light gruff chuckle. It was one of the only places in LA that he could find that didn't hand you a mixed drink with an entire fucking tropical rain forest on it, complete with a little paper umbrella that he wanted to jab the bartenders eye out with.
Life was good. Maybe not yesterday and perhaps not tomorrow, hell, maybe not a minute from now. But right now, this minute, life was good. Can't be picky. Gotta take what you can.
Ethan Granger sits at the bar and cares nothing about any of it. Dressed in sandblasted dark blue jeans, motorcycle boots and a dark leather jacket that covers the two guns at his waist side and another two in side holsters, he looks like he fits right in and yet, he sticks out. There are no MC patches on his jacket, no colors, no small nod of acknowledgment to the others as they look at him warily when they order their drinks from the bar. The man is his own island. His lips draw tightly over his face after the tumbler of amber liquid burns its way down his throat, coating it like cough syrup. Tastes like a mixture of Whiskey, axle grease and gasoline.
"Nice. Think I could run my car off this?" They were nearly the only words he spoke all evening.
The bartender smirks and fills up his glass again. Now, that'll burn off the skin of any vampire. For sure. Might have to consider weaponizing the brew. Of course none of those words left his mouth, just a appreciative counter-smirk and light gruff chuckle. It was one of the only places in LA that he could find that didn't hand you a mixed drink with an entire fucking tropical rain forest on it, complete with a little paper umbrella that he wanted to jab the bartenders eye out with.
Life was good. Maybe not yesterday and perhaps not tomorrow, hell, maybe not a minute from now. But right now, this minute, life was good. Can't be picky. Gotta take what you can.