I wrote a short story about a drunk. It’s an allegory for substance abuse.
What’s wrong?
Today I woke up in my usual place. In an alley behind the bar I was at last night. That’s not to say my regular place is exactly the same place every day. It’s usually whatever bar will put up with my antics for the night. Last night it happened to be Tony’s saloon of 7th. God I love that place. I can do no wrong there. It’s the kind of bar where I can get into a fist fight with someone and the only person who gets kicked out is the other guy. I’ve sat in their parking lot with an 18 pack frying filthy face waiting for the sun to rise so I could go back in and have a real drink.
You know the song from that show Cheers? Well it’s kinda my theme song there. And it’s really true. You really do wanna go where everybody knows your name, except for one slight difference. If I go somewhere they don’t know my name I’ll make sure they remember it by closing time. There’s not a bar in the local county digs that doesn’t know me. But Tony’s saloon is more like home to me than the others.
FUCK MY HEADS KILLING ME! Good lord why? I’m not hung over. I never get hung over. Ok I get hung over sometimes. But this was a little different. I lifted my head up from the pavement and realized there was a 2x4 attached to my temple by a nail. I think this was my pillow last night. Great, best idea I’ve had all week.
I reached to pull the plank away from my head with my right hand and my left hand spasmed a little.
Hehe heh
That felt funny.
Wait hold on this isn’t funny. Also this might really hurt.
I sort of braced myself while sitting on the ground by a dumpster.
Oh hey, I know the guy who caught that tag!
I swiftly yanked the 2x4’s and the nail embedded into my brain I don’t know how far, out of my skull.
Huh… wow. That didn’t hurt a bit. A little blood but almost no pain. Cool. Ok. I’m good.
Damn, Its a mess back here. I tried to open the dumpster to toss some trash and the piece of wood with the nail into the dumpster so that I wouldn’t do this again later this week, but it was locked.
I actually surprised myself because when I went to lift the dumpster lid the whole entire heavy duty plastic, designed to keep people out, bent back like paper.
Ok now that was really weird. Cool, but weird.
Must have been a defective lid or something. I hope the guys at Tony’s don’t get pissed about.
I dusted myself off. My black jeans were just as dirty as usual. My white high tops were the perfect amount of filthy. Just enough for that edgy “whoa this guy has been through some shit” but not quite “whoa this guy is homeless”. Catch my drift? My black hoodie and black patched up cut off denim jacket smelt ill. Sickly like the sorrow and regret you smell in dive bars. Real dive bars. Not the hoity toity hipster bars trying to be cool, vintage, retro, nostalgic, sheik, noir, niche, dirty, a drag, fancy, cultist, ahead of the curve, or interesting….. no I smell of the real sorrow you encounter in a bar you don’t want to be in…
Some people say my life is sad. Some people say I talk too much. HAH! If they only knew what my inner monologue is like.
I looked at my watch (because I don’t have a phone) and it was only 5:30 am. I still got a half hour until… what was I waiting for again? Oh yeah! The bar! I’m waiting for Tony’s to open up.
Now before you make any judgements about me you should know I don’t spend my entire day at the bar like some looser. I have a strict regiment. Opening till 10 get smashed then venture out into the world for a few hours. Maybe have a drink somewhere. And find something to do until happy hour starts. Go to happy hour get tanked. Go back out into society for a few more hours and then my next shift is the magical one. This is the time to make money… billiards. I love to play pool. In all kinds of ways, all of the good ways. All of the bad ways. All the ways. I make good money and I get good drinks for free.
Oh shit money! I need to check my pockets. I reached my hand to the back of my jeans and accidentally ripped off my entire back pocket. Phew! My wallets still there. But I gotta say the craftsmanship of today is really going down the shitter. Sometimes I get my pockets ran at night by I have no idea who. But whoever comes up on me must find a nice fix for themselves at some point. I counted the money in my wallet. 1, 2, 3 thousand. Cool it’s all there still. Last nights haul on the pool tables wasn’t all that bad.
Now I know what one would think. Why does this dead beat have so much money for?
And you’re not gonna believe it… my life is simple. Wake up (apparently today remove brain from nail… er uh remove nail from brain), drink, wander, drink, wander, shoot pool make money drink, and repeat. If you’ve ever been a regular at a bar you know that it’s hard to spend thousands of dollars daily. So with the extra money I’ve got, I try and help out a few people down on there luck. Actually I don’t believe in luck, not my own anyway. I don’t give life the chance to change enough to throw me any curve balls. But other people are different. Sometimes I leave an envelope at the bar with the bartenders name on it. Especially if they’re doing bad this month. Sometimes I give it to the guy spanging on the corner. Sometimes I just leave it at a bus stop. The point is I don’t need all that money, but someone else might. And if they go spend it on vice in some way who am I to judge?
OH! Would you just look at that. It’s 6 am time for a drink.
The guys and gals that run Tony’s know me all to well. Today they opened the back door cause they knew I’d probably be out there. I walked into the bar through the back I was the only one in there. Mine was the only drink waiting at the bar at my favorite stool. These people are like family to me. A fucked up twisted I have to leave every night at 2 am and wait four hours to come back. The you only have to pay for a few drinks type of family, but none the less the closest thing I have to such a concept.
Megan was working today. She aaallllwwwaaayyysss pours heavy. She knows what I like. And she knows what she doesn’t like. I respect her for that.
A few hours passed. A couple people stop in, vendors for beer companies, a few alcoholics and someone who thought it was a good idea to come to this bar for an early morning business meeting. Needless to say I’m pretty sure that whatever deal they were trying to close did not in fact close.
It came time I had to use the restroom. I walked to the back and opened the door. This bathroom could tell you more stories than I could ever. But they would be incriminating so we don’t let the bathroom talk to any one. I went to wash my hands. Why? I don’t know, force of habit? I went to push the soap dispenser and the lever thing on it that pushes the soap out, broke. Like destroyed. Man, today’s goods are really really shoddy. I’ll tell Megan. I put my hand on the familiar door knob to turn it and the thing crumpled in my palm and locked me in.
Ok this sucks.
MEGAN! The door won’t let me out of the bathroom! Again!
I tried to knock/pound on the door to get her attention and it split right down the middle. This is a heavy wooden door… man I hope they don’t notice the door. Fuck.
Megan came to my rescue and noticed the scene. The soap dispenser. The door knob. The door.
Um… I’m sorry?
Remember I said she knows what she doesn’t like? Well this is one of those moments.
If she had heat ray vision I’d be totally scorched right now.
I understood the message. I left with my tail tucked between my legs.
Man, I’ve never been kicked out of Tony’s, this blows. Maybe they’ll be cool tonight?
Oh right the money! I can just pay for the stuff I fucked up. I hope. Ummmm 1,000 bucks should be good. I hope. But I can’t leave that with Megan she’ll probably throw a bottle of vodka at me. Wait that might not be the worst thing. Maybe I could catch it and keep it…
On second thought maybe I’ll wait till the owner gets here and I’ll just tell him it was an accident.
So I carried on through the alley away from Tony’s in hopes to find something to do for the day. Sometimes I like to think that maybe my day carries me. I don’t have any specific plans except for to get a drink at some point. But until then I guess I’ll just make my rounds.
I spent a few hours passing by a few encampments I knew, then I saw Roy. He wasn’t looking so good. He was sitting outside his tent shaking and sweating. It looked like he was trying to fish some change out of a coffe can? Oh boy was he going through it. I asked what’s wrong (like I didn’t already know.) he grumbled something inaudible. So I slipped him a c note and called it a day with Roy. I kept it pushing. I’m not even sure he knows I gave him a 100 bucks. Oh well, he’ll be here tomorrow and so will I.
Man this place is a dump. I started walking towards a bar on the other side of downtown and stepped in something. I’m not sure if it’s a burrito or roadkill. I grabbed a telephone pole to try and wipe my foot off on the curb and the strangest thing happened. The curb broke a little bit. Not like a big piece, just like the park I kicked. I might write a letter to someone later today about all this shitty stuff being made. Dumpster lids, bathroom doors, and curbs. I mean cmon my city is falling apart around me. Right?
It’s around lunch time by now. And I’m hungry. Which means I’m thirsty. Which means? Time for a some of hair of the dog… again. So on my way to the bar I stopped by a convenience store for a chilli dog and a brew. Indulgence is discipline and gluttony is a close second, I always say.
Nobody ever gets it.
I payed for most of what I got a tall boy and a chilli dog and some chips. I went to go pump a little ketchup out of the dispenser and the thing blew up on me.
This is some lame ass luck. Now it looks like I killed someone in a bad slasher film, made by 5 year olds playing with food. Grreeeaaatttt. I look very unhappy right now but the guy behind the counter yelling at me in Arabic is way more pissed.
Look man it’s not my fault your ketchup dispenser was rigged by an explosives specialist.
After drinking my meal and eating my beer I strolled into a quaint little cantina place for maybe some tequila. I don’t discriminate, ya know? Besides they had a pool table and I was kinda jonesing for a game about now. Luckily someone was already in the middle of a game. Perfect. This way I get to watch how bad they are before I really make em look stupid. It’s not like I’m gonna lose unless I want to.
They finished their game, and they weren’t all that bad. I wasn’t trying to win any money I just wanted to play for a round or two. Low stakes. No big deal.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
These guys were Russian, and Russians always always always hate loosing. It’s like a pride thing or something.
I racked up a game of straight 8 and let him break. Nothing special but him and his buddy acted like it was the coolest thing they ever saw. I missed a shot, then scratched my next. Both on purpose. But in doing so I left him a harder shot than if I was playing to win as fast as possible.
I asked if they wanna bet a round on the game after one of em sunk 3 balls and I hadn’t made a single shot yet.
Without a doubt they agreed.
I let them sink one more ball and then I turned the heat up a little bit. It’s a lot easier to play pool when there’s no other balls on the table except yours mostly. I ran through seven balls and the two Russians became unruly. On the 8 ball I went to slam o to a corner pocket but something out of the ordinary happened. The cue ball and the 8 ball shattered… I’ve never seen that before. Cool…
The two Russians started screaming that I lost because I didn’t make the 8 and I was cheating or something.
Hey it’s not my fault u told em. “Chalk” it up to a freak accident.
But they weren’t hearing that at all.
Now I’m used to bar fights and physical altercations, but that’s usually one on one. These two grabbed me by the arms and dragged me out back.
Great, This is turning out to be a pretty crappy day so far.
One held my arms behind me while the other hit me in the ribs with a pool stick.
Who do you think you are? Jose conseco? You probably don’t even know who that is.
They didn’t take kindly to my antics.
Wait hold on a second.
Hit me again.
They both looked at each other confused.
One cocked back and hit me as hard as he could. The pool stick broke on my chest and the heavier piece hit is friend right in The face. Like literally “In to” his face. Sticking out of his face.
Hey, um… that don’t look so good buddy…..
They both started screaming bloody murder. Well one did for a moment. The other just kinda gurgled? Ya I’d say he gurgled. And then fell over.
I’m pretty fast when I want to be but that guy who swung the stick took off running faster than I could even begin to fathom.
But what just happened? How come that didn’t hurt. I should be on the ground trying to figure out how to breathe again. Something’s not…. Normal with me. Well nothing is ever normal, sort of. But this is really out of wack. I think I need a drink.
I walked back into the quaint little cantina tequila bar and sat at the corner stool. Man what does it take to get a drink around here? And why is everyone looking at me all crazy? Like I’m a guy strapped to a wheelchair with a muzzle on?
Then I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar. I was covered in blood like a tampon that’s been cookin too long.
The bartender brought me a shot, reluctantly. I threw it back and left before anyone had a chance to call the cops.
This is bad. This is real bad. I started walking in the direction that seemed the most scarce as far as people go.
What am I gonna do? Fuck!
I kicked a small metal trash can on the side walk and it flew like a soccer ball. Into some guys vans window…
Really? Cmon!
Uh oh. That guy looks pissed and he’s pulling over.
The sliding door flew open making that excruciating sound metal does when it slides against metal with no lubricant. Two very sweaty rather dirty guys jumped out and grabbed me. They were Russian.
Fuck… this guy again? It was the guy who lost in pool earlier.
He was pointing at me from the corner of the van trying to get as far away from me as possible. It was kinda funny to watch cause he couldn’t get more than a few feet away from me.
They put a bag over my head and hit me with something. I didn’t feel it but I figured I’d play dead and see wear this goes.
A short ride later the van stops. The door makes that awful noise again and they carried me out of the van. Maybe I’ll play dead some more and they’ll leave me alone.
Or not.
I felt myself being tied to a chair. The air was kinda stale but mostly just quiet.
They removed the bag and caught me off guard. I was trying to keep my charade up but they caught me sticking my tongue out and closing my eyes mid expression. Oops.
They said something in Russian then hit me again. I could taste the blood in my mouth but still no pain.
And it’s almost like they knew. Probably because I winced a little too late. I’m new to this whole not feeling anything in my body. Another one hit me again. I didn’t even try to pretend this time.
One of them got really close to my face and said one word to me in English. Very poor English, but who am I to judge.
He said “devil”.
Not the first time someone’s called me that. Never in a good context. Except this one time girl called me a handsome devil.
There was a more serious matter at hand though. Like real serious. One of the sweaty guys started to pour gasoline on the ground around me while the other lit a zippo.
This isn’t looking good for me. What did I do to deserve this? I mean all I did was play a decent game of pool. I didn’t even hit the guy in the alley. It was his friend.
The gasoline started getting closer to me as he kept pouring. Normally I like my bartenders to have a heavy hand but not so much in this case.
He got just a little closer and I shouted BOO!Someone dropped the lighter and it caught the gas on fire. The guy pouring it stumbled and dropped it dowsing him and one of the others. The third Slavic tried desperately to pull his friends away from the flames but all it did was give the gas a chance to reach the wall and catch the cluttered fuck scattered around the warehouse on fire. Before you knew it the place was one big meat smoker.
But I still wasn’t feeling heat and I almost forgot “hey you’re gonna die”.
But I was still bound to a chair. I wiggled and strained to free myself but I was pretty stuck to this crappy wooden chair.
Shit shit shit what am I gonna do.
Ummmmm… oh right maybe like in the movies you can break a chair by standing up and sitting on it really fast.
It took me a few tries but eventually I pulled it off. The one guy who didn’t get set on fire had passed out from smoke inhalation trying free his buddies. I ran past him and to the door. Later suckers!
Right?
Right…
God damn it! Am I really gonna do this?
I ran back inside though a wall of flames trying to cover myself as best as I could. I found the guy still passed out only some debris had fallen and pinned him down.
I’m not cut out for this. I’m not a super hero. I’m not even super.
Wait a second.
The door. The curb. The trashcan.
I made a bold decision to attempt to save this dudes life. Dude who just tried to kill me, mind you.
I went to lift the debris off him and not crisp myself in the process. I don’t know if this stuff was heavy or not. But whatever it was flew across the vast empty space and crashed into the van. Now the van was being eaten up by more flames than it already was. I could hear a weird metal clinking noise I never heard a car make.
I picked the guy up and threw him over my shoulder and bolted for the door.
We made it outside. He wasn’t breathing.
Someone somewhere in the universe must have a fucked up sense of humor. Not only did I go back and rescue a guy who called me a devil and tried to kill me. Now I have to give him cpr. I’m not even certified!
I pinched his nose and breathed 3 breaths into him. His mouth clearly had just been doused in vodka.
Eh I guess it could be worse.
I pumped his heart 5 times.
Then 5 more and then breathed for him again.
I must have done this 8 or 9 times before an explosion erupted in the ware house. We both got launched a few feet away. The last thing I remember is a fire truck pulling up. I’m not sure what happened next cause I passed out….
A few weeks later I think. I’m bad with time.
I’m at Tony’s again. Just like the good old days. Megan isn’t pissed. I payed for the door and other stuff. I’m sitting on my favorite stool with an empty tumbler in front of me.
Hey Megan can you get us another round? Pleeeaaaassseee?
She looked at me with a side eye like she always does when I say please like that.
Someone patted me on the back and sat next to me. By now it’s a familiar pat. I mean after all we’ve been through. Stuff like trying to kill me and burning warehouses.
We don’t communicate so well with words. We just drink and play pool a lot.
He leaned in closer to me than I would have liked and said “devil”.
The tumbler in my hand cracked a little bit from me squeezing it…..
Eh what could go wrong?