(no subject)
so chuck comes into the bar tonight,
and i remember being annoyed
cause he always brags about what a good tipper he is
and usually leaves around 12 percent.
plus, he wants his blue moons served with chilled
glasses, and fresh orange slices.
maybe he thinks it's that kind of bar, and maybe
it is- i mean, we stock both of those things.
i'm just not that kind of bartender.
chuck is there, and i am taking my time
getting to him... i finally walk over, and ask him in
the most disinterested voice i can muster
hey, hon; how are you?
he says fine, and reciprocates.
i tell him i have pinkeye- hence the sunglasses
i have donned this particular night
and that i just want my shift to end.
he says
well, i don't think this will make your night any better
and tells me that wade died.
wade who still has two of my cds, wade who is
kissing my cheek in that picture from halloween
i use in several of my online profiles.
it's just a good picture of me.
i cut as much of his face out as i could, actually.
wade the heroin addict. i told him he'd better slow down
so many times, and he told me he would, and
we've sung and danced like that for a few years now
off and on abstractly, but not anymore. wade's dead,
and it wasn't the smack that laid him out, it was some stupid
kidney infection- though everyone is starting to hum
the needle and the damage done.
i told todd, an off-duty comrade who happened
to be lurking about in a superhero costume
(don't ask), and the first thing he said was that wade had a t-shirt
of his. then he drank what must have been him 7th
shot, and said i wish you hadn't told me that...
wade was my friend.
he put the glass down, and pulled his mask back on.
in closing, he still has my t-shirt. it came out slurred, or maybe
the rubber airhole was too small.
he went back around to where his friends were sitting.
i think he won't remember tomorrow.
chuck left right after he told me, and todd
departed soon after, and the last call campers
still wanted shooters and declarations of
alcoholic love like not a damn thing changed.
i wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves but i just
kept pouring because i wasn't even sure if i was pissed
because wade died or because i couldn't get a second
all to myself to give a shit.
i did my sidework and two bumps, because i have discovered
the best way to date a robert downey junior is to less than zero like
jamie gertz. she was so hot in that movie. in real life, i am not.
in real life, powder is for babies.
purpose served, though: for an hour or two i forgot all about wade.
coming home, i remembered, and then i felt pretty sick
because he's still dead, i still have pinkeye,
and robert downey never called.
i broke my sunglasses, too.
wade used to defend the swastika
as an ancient hindu symbol of peace.
we argued about that for hours.
and i remember being annoyed
cause he always brags about what a good tipper he is
and usually leaves around 12 percent.
plus, he wants his blue moons served with chilled
glasses, and fresh orange slices.
maybe he thinks it's that kind of bar, and maybe
it is- i mean, we stock both of those things.
i'm just not that kind of bartender.
chuck is there, and i am taking my time
getting to him... i finally walk over, and ask him in
the most disinterested voice i can muster
hey, hon; how are you?
he says fine, and reciprocates.
i tell him i have pinkeye- hence the sunglasses
i have donned this particular night
and that i just want my shift to end.
he says
well, i don't think this will make your night any better
and tells me that wade died.
wade who still has two of my cds, wade who is
kissing my cheek in that picture from halloween
i use in several of my online profiles.
it's just a good picture of me.
i cut as much of his face out as i could, actually.
wade the heroin addict. i told him he'd better slow down
so many times, and he told me he would, and
we've sung and danced like that for a few years now
off and on abstractly, but not anymore. wade's dead,
and it wasn't the smack that laid him out, it was some stupid
kidney infection- though everyone is starting to hum
the needle and the damage done.
i told todd, an off-duty comrade who happened
to be lurking about in a superhero costume
(don't ask), and the first thing he said was that wade had a t-shirt
of his. then he drank what must have been him 7th
shot, and said i wish you hadn't told me that...
wade was my friend.
he put the glass down, and pulled his mask back on.
in closing, he still has my t-shirt. it came out slurred, or maybe
the rubber airhole was too small.
he went back around to where his friends were sitting.
i think he won't remember tomorrow.
chuck left right after he told me, and todd
departed soon after, and the last call campers
still wanted shooters and declarations of
alcoholic love like not a damn thing changed.
i wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves but i just
kept pouring because i wasn't even sure if i was pissed
because wade died or because i couldn't get a second
all to myself to give a shit.
i did my sidework and two bumps, because i have discovered
the best way to date a robert downey junior is to less than zero like
jamie gertz. she was so hot in that movie. in real life, i am not.
in real life, powder is for babies.
purpose served, though: for an hour or two i forgot all about wade.
coming home, i remembered, and then i felt pretty sick
because he's still dead, i still have pinkeye,
and robert downey never called.
i broke my sunglasses, too.
wade used to defend the swastika
as an ancient hindu symbol of peace.
we argued about that for hours.