lostmyface
2008-12-03, 16:10
The smell was the first thing he noticed. A comforting concoction of beer, smoke, and sweat, all stale. This was his kind of place. No frills. No girls. Just beer and the lone TV in the corner showing high lights from that night’s game. Mike ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon an joined the line of drunks sitting at the counter. He chanced a look at himself in the mirror an shudder at what he saw. No wonder the bar tender had taken a second look at him before bringing his beer. His hair was soaked with grease an fell about his shoulders in brown clumps. The face he saw was pale, brown eyes gazed back at him, set above strong check bones. But that little whore had really got him good. Right across his cheek ran a neat red cut, as if some one had decided to draw a line with a straight razor between his swollen left eye an his busted lower lip. Which is exactly what had happened. “oh well” he thought to him self, “such is love”.
He looked away form the mirror focusing instead on the beer in his hand. He took a drink. And then another. And with each swallow he noticed that the memory of her began to fade. First he forgot the mole on the inside of her thigh. Then he forgot about the way her eyes caught the light of the incandescent bulb in his room. He drank until all he could remember was her screams. High an shrill as the train that used to pass by his childhood home. An he remembered how similar her screams were to the screams of his mother. “Fucking Rams, when the fuck are they going to get a fucking head coach?!” The mans yelling snapped him back to reality. Mike looked for the noise that had pulled him from his thoughts. His good eye caught a chubby man with a receding hairline pointing with one hand at the TV, screaming to anyone that would listen. “I mean for Christ sake, I could run through those holes! where the fuck is our defense?!” when no one answered the chubby man sat back down, but not before shaking his hand at the TV one more time, as if evoking a curse on all Rams players past, present an future.
Taking it as a sign, Mike paid for his drinks an stumbled out of the bar, into the hot Missouri night. His dickies shirt stuck to his back like a leech. Sometime around three in the morning it started to rain, but Mike kept on walking. He knew he could not go back to his motel room. The place reminded him too much of a coffin. Small, dark, an musty.
Plus Cindy was there, an alive or dead, her screams would always be too much for him. Mike also knew that Jones, Cindy’s pimp would notice his girl missing, an he would come looking for her, or him. Either way, Mike knew that room was the last place in the world he wanted to be. Well, it was the last place he wanted to be besides this city. He was tired an ready for a change. St. Louis had proved to be too much for him. Between the late nights drinking and the early mornings working at the plant something had snapped in him. Or perhaps it was all the whoring that did him in.
Either way Mike knew he was no longer the young man from Kentucky who had left for the city two years ago. Pushing past beer soaked thoughts Mike tried to remember why he had left his home, nestled in the blue ridge mountains. A safe place he thought. Protected by hills an valleys. Plenty of places to hide. Plenty of places to escape. Why had he bothered to leave those valleys in search of alleys an whores? And then he remembered. And as those memories came rushing at him like a thousand hell hounds Mike began to run. Trying to put as much distance between himself an those awful images. But he could not run fast enough. And when the memories finally caught up to him, Mike doubled over an began to vomit. The bitter taste of bile flooding his senses. After what seemed like a life time Mike got up. He kept walking until he reached the high way. 64 West. He stuck out his thumb into the rain soaked night and waited.
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comments or criticism please
He looked away form the mirror focusing instead on the beer in his hand. He took a drink. And then another. And with each swallow he noticed that the memory of her began to fade. First he forgot the mole on the inside of her thigh. Then he forgot about the way her eyes caught the light of the incandescent bulb in his room. He drank until all he could remember was her screams. High an shrill as the train that used to pass by his childhood home. An he remembered how similar her screams were to the screams of his mother. “Fucking Rams, when the fuck are they going to get a fucking head coach?!” The mans yelling snapped him back to reality. Mike looked for the noise that had pulled him from his thoughts. His good eye caught a chubby man with a receding hairline pointing with one hand at the TV, screaming to anyone that would listen. “I mean for Christ sake, I could run through those holes! where the fuck is our defense?!” when no one answered the chubby man sat back down, but not before shaking his hand at the TV one more time, as if evoking a curse on all Rams players past, present an future.
Taking it as a sign, Mike paid for his drinks an stumbled out of the bar, into the hot Missouri night. His dickies shirt stuck to his back like a leech. Sometime around three in the morning it started to rain, but Mike kept on walking. He knew he could not go back to his motel room. The place reminded him too much of a coffin. Small, dark, an musty.
Plus Cindy was there, an alive or dead, her screams would always be too much for him. Mike also knew that Jones, Cindy’s pimp would notice his girl missing, an he would come looking for her, or him. Either way, Mike knew that room was the last place in the world he wanted to be. Well, it was the last place he wanted to be besides this city. He was tired an ready for a change. St. Louis had proved to be too much for him. Between the late nights drinking and the early mornings working at the plant something had snapped in him. Or perhaps it was all the whoring that did him in.
Either way Mike knew he was no longer the young man from Kentucky who had left for the city two years ago. Pushing past beer soaked thoughts Mike tried to remember why he had left his home, nestled in the blue ridge mountains. A safe place he thought. Protected by hills an valleys. Plenty of places to hide. Plenty of places to escape. Why had he bothered to leave those valleys in search of alleys an whores? And then he remembered. And as those memories came rushing at him like a thousand hell hounds Mike began to run. Trying to put as much distance between himself an those awful images. But he could not run fast enough. And when the memories finally caught up to him, Mike doubled over an began to vomit. The bitter taste of bile flooding his senses. After what seemed like a life time Mike got up. He kept walking until he reached the high way. 64 West. He stuck out his thumb into the rain soaked night and waited.
__________________________________________________ ___
comments or criticism please