words...
Males of Ordinary Sadness
nbsp; So this is how it ends, you weeping on your way to work and me, 6:15 a.m. at Tony's place, two Budweisers and a double Kessler's. It was 7:12 a.m. in a dive bar on Geary street when I knew my life needed to change or it would end poorly, and soon. And then next it was 7:23 and i had forgotten about all of that and had another Michelob, another old granddad. Roy Orbison on the goddamned juke box.
nbsp; You dumped me in a bowling alley parking lot just after league play. That night I cried and drank, drank and cried. I managed to wake up early the next morning and here I am. I am trying to stuff these new red hot blues down as far as they will go as soon as possible, for a good enough spell. Eventually I will either stop this, not stop this or start all over again. This is my pyrrhic medicine. When life ends me I will either have choked on this or on a woman.
nbsp; I thought about not doing any thinking. I did pretty well with that until some chickie walked in. I could no longer not think. She had two tits and some random chromosomes. It's always something.
nbsp; Like a genuine prick I was on stage. I downed what I had then ordered a double with a deep voice and some swagger. I said "Phil, hit me twice" he looked up from his racing form with a "what the fuck?" look then saw me looking at the skirt, shook his head and said, equally as loud "the usual, Mr. thick". I saw her look up with interest. I nodded, she....well...she wouldn't have smiled if I dropped my trousers and a chariot flew out. I saw Phil chuckle then unfold and refold the papers and set them down on the bar. He came up and sat down the two glasses with a good solid thump. He and I had agreed about 12 years earlier that when ordering a double to impress the ladies it is always more dramatic to have two single shots instead of one big shot. He said, loud enough "this one is on the arm, boss" winking. I knew damn well it wasn't going to be free. She looked up again and I curled a long strand of hair behind her ear. She look at me as though I were paint drying. I gave Phil the thank you nod, subtle, like I was the godfather. I cleared my throat so she would look and picked up one of the shots, nodded to it, raised it to an absent lover then downed it. The next one followed post haste. I looked down and to the right and nodded in melancholy. I stared into blank space, like I was Bogart or Mitchum or Bronson.or...Woody Allen...
nbsp; Peripherally I saw her put down her book, look towards me with some sort of tangible longing. I just knew her loins were ablaze or at least slightly above room temperature. I went back to my beer, she went back to her book.....it was Raymond Carver! I was in like goddamned Flynn. Wally Flynn, Errol's retarded half brother...but still.
nbsp; Old good Johnny cash came on the box and I nodded to nothing in particular and said loud enough...."get rhythm?...hell..when I get the blues I get drunk and i get onion rings and ranch dressing and..and..hot sauce!".
nbsp; She smiled at me with a star in her eye..or was it pity..a pity star?....anyways….I asked her how she was…..the word she used was "restless"..or maybe it was "busy" not sure. She didn't move down three barstools though. She probably was a lonely school teacher, third grade maybe…desirous of some strange. And god knows I am as strange as fuck. I squinted at her. She smiled and asked "you read much?" and I said for some reason "oh boy do I?"…..and then I knew our future was sealed….kids…house….trash compactor…cable channels. I told her Carver was an influence..she said on who..and from there it went swimmingly. If it were an epileptic trying to swim in a vat of frozen horseshit.
nbsp; Joni Mitchell came on...it was "River"...I will be properly sad for the next few drinking hours because this jukebox is in the hands of a master.