The Saturday after choking in bed.unburiableFebruary 22 2003, 23:16:03 UTC
There was a girl sitting beside me, ranting about how a fellow she’d been sleeping with had turned his fists to her one too many times, and as I looked her over I noticed instantly that such was not the case. Her frame was a melancholy one; out of proportion, losing strength, losing the notion to persevere. Her hair hung in limp strands over her face, burned from too much dye, frayed at the ends like a wheat field that someone beat up. And indeed, she did look like she’d been playing the part of a punching bag for much too long a stretch. But those were the rules of this town: one you start, you either throw in the towel or you stay in for another helpless round.
This girl looked to be in the nineteenth round. One hell of a fighter, but not the one I’d put my money on if I had the money to spare. I didn’t have shit to spare, however, so I turned to the bartender and tapped my glass to the mahogany. He whisked another and it clinked against three empty shot glasses blurring on the bar before me.
“Want me to take those?” he asked.
“Want me to leave?” I returned.
The bartender gave me a sour look. “I’m only joshing,” I said after a spell during which I figured I might be out on my ass faster than a falling tower if I didn’t take that back. “Yeah, you can take them.”
“Thanks,” he grunted, clearing the empty shot glasses from the bar and pushing another two whiskeys in front of me. “Take your time, sailor.”
The girl next to me puts her hand on my thigh. “Care to treat a sad lonely little girl to a shot?”
I looked her over again. She wasn’t my type because I don’t like charity cases. “I’ll tell you what, darling. It’s my perception that you’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think you ought to call it a night, but let me give you some advice before you get the fuck out of my face. That boyfriend of yours? Leave him. If you don’t? Fight back. In either case, get a job. Buy your own drinks.” I raised the two shot glasses to her and knocked ‘em both down my gullet. “Here’s to you, princess.”
Cut things in half if they move too very quickly.miss_ladybugApril 1 2003, 02:19:38 UTC
Today I ran into Steve Albini at the office and he told me to tell you he's very sorry for fucking up all those mixes on 'In Utero' that you did. He wants to take you out to lunch or something at Estradi's. I told him I'd relay the message.
Oh, and somebody next to me on the subway this morning got knifed to death.
This girl looked to be in the nineteenth round. One hell of a fighter, but not the one I’d put my money on if I had the money to spare. I didn’t have shit to spare, however, so I turned to the bartender and tapped my glass to the mahogany. He whisked another and it clinked against three empty shot glasses blurring on the bar before me.
“Want me to take those?” he asked.
“Want me to leave?” I returned.
The bartender gave me a sour look. “I’m only joshing,” I said after a spell during which I figured I might be out on my ass faster than a falling tower if I didn’t take that back. “Yeah, you can take them.”
“Thanks,” he grunted, clearing the empty shot glasses from the bar and pushing another two whiskeys in front of me. “Take your time, sailor.”
The girl next to me puts her hand on my thigh. “Care to treat a sad lonely little girl to a shot?”
I looked her over again. She wasn’t my type because I don’t like charity cases. “I’ll tell you what, darling. It’s my perception that you’ve had a bit too much to drink. I think you ought to call it a night, but let me give you some advice before you get the fuck out of my face. That boyfriend of yours? Leave him. If you don’t? Fight back. In either case, get a job. Buy your own drinks.” I raised the two shot glasses to her and knocked ‘em both down my gullet. “Here’s to you, princess.”
She slapped me in the eye. It stung like hell.
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Oh, and somebody next to me on the subway this morning got knifed to death.
Misty.
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