Friday
The City Chapter 2
I figured I’d take it easy for a couple of days, lay low if it was at all necessary. I didn't really expect to be getting any new jobs that soon either. I figured I’d hit a fuckin bar, alcohol seemingly less hazardous to the health at this point in time. With that I wound up some cash lying around the apartment, and headed out the door. The bruises on my face had faded slightly, but my chances with the ladies weren't looking too good without having to pay, well, for more than a few drinks at least.
I wandered the streets for about half an hour and found a small tavern in a heavy residential area; it was right at the base of some skyscraper of an apartment building. The place was pretty full; the sign above the door maxed the capacity at fifty. The place sort of stops for a second as I walk in, almost every eye in the room does a second look kind of twitch, the bartender walks to the elbow of the L shaped bar, directly towards the entrance to the bar, and says,
"Y..you can't be in here buddy, w..we don't need no trouble tonight buddy." The old bartender says, he sounded like an old east coast drunk that cleaned himself up just enough to get a job in the bar on account of the free booze, upon which he was undoubtedly indulging.
"I didn't come here to cause shit buddy, I just need a fuckin drink."
"Well um were all outta drinks there bud, you'll have to go someplace else." Was he fucking kidding me?
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Look, we just don't want no trouble here is all." I thought I needed to be trashed to start shit with people, but being sober was starting to prove easier than ever. It wasn't worth my time or effort to fend off all the loyal customers of this dingy little pub, so I left, making a mental note to do something about that when there's nothing better to do all I wanted to do was get drunk.
So I walked on, twenty minutes later I found myself near a little bar, independent of other buildings that looked a touch lower class than the other, but possibly more accepting. I walked in, and the twitch was only seen from the bartender. He watched me approach the bar. "How's it doin?" He asks. "Could be better, could be worse." I say, with a meager smile. He smirks, "What'll it be?” "Anything draught, doesn't matter." As I take a seat at the bar.
The place is dimly lit, the smell of ancient nicotine mixed with the ever present smoke mixed with alcohol and that weird smell that comes off of the extremely depressed; like their heart is still beating, but their body isn't really willing to keep on living, so it begins to rot, sort of metaphorically, but it's noticeable visually and through scent. It was weird, but I sort of felt safe here.
A few drinks later I began to look around, I had sort of stuck to looking at the liquor bottles lined amongst the walls, and decided there may be better things to see. Alcohol has always been like a little immediate confidence boost, with no time to really conceive how the events that I willingly create can be dealt with. My eyes locked with a few people, most turned away after a second or so, but one guy from the far end of the place, stared straight back. I nodded, and he nodded back. I continued to look at him and he stood up and started walking towards me. He looked like he was in his fifties, but it kind of looked like he was actually thirty or so, with years of substance abuse under his belt. "You know me man?" He says. "Nah, can't say that I do." I say. "Then why the fuck you nodding at me man?" He asks. "Honestly man, I don't know, I was just looking around, beer makes me do stuff I wouldn't normally do I guess." Again, no mood for fight, just want be drunk please.
"Well, I’d appreciate it if you'd look the fuck over there," He says, pointing to the other side of the bar. "Will do man, will do." I say as I sort of turn back towards the bar. "Good, it's a good choice there buddy." He says and walks back to his seat. I order another beer and leave. It's only eleven, I’m sort of buzzed, I figured walking around smoking cigarettes and weed for the next few hours could go either really good or really bad, but rationalizing with myself, I figured it was still worth it. I had a knife, but it'd probably be my demise at this point in time.
So I walked, for about an hour, occasionally going down one of the innumerable hidden alleyways or side streets this city is infamous for. The sidewalks were lengthened due to these alleyways, being the number three place on the cities most likely predator locations. People always walk right near the road due to this. I heard it was just one guy, who snapped, realized that he could just drag people into these little tiny alleyways, no cameras, bad lighting, and have his way. I'd sort of like to believe this is just one guy, but it's a whole fuckin bunch of these whack jobs. There’s people in this fucking city that literally hunt humans down for fun, and it takes the defense department up to and over a week at a time to catch most.
I really question why I came here, of all places, to build a music store. I could have just stayed where I was, selling drugs, playing poker, the lotto, and off track betting. I really tried to remember why I came here, but it didn't come to me. What the fuck could have convinced me? No tourist pamphlet can be that convincing. Another few blocks and I would be home, I didn't particularly want to go, but I had started to get sober, and that wasn't something I needed at this point.
As I approached the building I noticed a guy leaning against the walls opposite the elevator, I decided the stairs were always good, even when you're drunk, maybe even especially. The lights were so dim, all the plastic coverings coated with years of dirt and spit and other shit that I can't recall seeing anywhere else. As I approached the seventh I was relatively winded, that aside, I heard the door directly above me slam open and footsteps, two people. One jumped down the first flight, the second flight and then abruptly stopped when he saw me. He was carrying my guitar, no case, and a DVD player.
He quickly tried to run past but I grabbed him by the throat, took out his left knee and grabbed my guitar before he hit the ground. As I turned to rest my Washburn against the wall the other guy, carrying my Pignose amp in one hand, and all of the movies I owned, came crashing into me, he turned the corner saw me kneeling and his friend gasping for oxygen so he dropped the movies and the amp and tried to kick me in the face. I drew back in time, punched the first guy in the solar plexus, hopefully taking even more air away from him and, in all my drunken glory, uppercut the second guy. It hurt like fuck, I broke a finger, hit him right under the chin but he sprawled back, dazed a little, and stepped on a few of the fallen movies. I went up to him and punched him in the stomach a few times, and I got the feeling he wanted to tap out, so I threw him down the stairs. The gasping man on the ground watched helplessly as I threw his friend head first down a ten set, and then focused his eyes back on me. I grabbed him by the opening of his jacket and lifted him up. He looked relieved; he had almost regained his breath.
"Shouldna done it." I said. And with that, I tossed him down the flight as well. At this point I didn't even care to see if he landed on his friend or not, I just WANT BE DRUNK. I fucking hate this place. I grabbed my guitar, and picked up a few select movies, then I realized my player had been smashed, the movies weren't that great, so I tossed them back on the ground, grabbed my Pignose and proceeded upstairs. The door was open, smashed in, and the place was trashed, but it was trashed when I last left it regardless. Drawers, cupboards, everything on hinges had been searched. There was very little of value in this shitpit, but then it occurred to me, I had a silver ring, sentimentally valued, that had been given to me as a gift a long time ago. I didn't wear it all that often. It had been in the bottom drawer of a dresser in the bedroom.
It was missing, so I decided to see if they had dropped that too. I figured they would have had enough time to sort themselves out and fuck off, so the ring could be gone, but if there was still a chance, than why not. Both were still lying at the bottom of the stairs face down beside each other, I looked around for the ring, couldn't see it. One of them still had it. Neither was moving, and I didn't really like how they were able to maintain such awkward positions. I turned the first one over and it became apparent, his head flopped and gave into gravity fully. Great, now I gotta hide a body. I searched his pockets and found money, about five hundred, and a nice gold Zippo, but no ring. I turned the second guy over and realized he too had a broken neck. The good thing was, he had my ring. As I was placing the ring on my finger the guy who had been waiting outside had been creeping up the stairs and turned to see me looming over his dead friend with my back to him.
"Hands up fucker" He says, real aggressive like, walking towards me, "Or I blow yer fucking brains out right here and now." I wasn't about to have this shit-for-brains crackhead shoot me in the back of the head for the five hundred and twenty bucks I had in my pocket or the nice Zippo. I raised my hands slowly and waited for him to say something else. "Gimme everythi..," Spinning around I grab the barrel of his gun with my left hand and push his arm up in the air and to his right. He let out a gasp and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling and ripping it. A shot went off, followed by another, both into the floors above. I twisted the barrel downwards and into his stomach. He leaned forward with surprisingly little resistance so I took the chance to bring my elbow down onto his temple with all the force I could muster. The moment my elbow impacted he flinched and a third shot went off, this time into his lower intestine. He screamed, released the piece of my shirt that he had managed to tear off and fell to his knees.
I tore the gun away from him and stepped back a few feet, breathing heavily I watched the man lie down and begin to cry. "I'm comin, I'll be there soon, I can almost feel it. Momma, I’m coming!" He continued to scream into the night air, the sound of his voice echoing through the dark corridor. "Lemme help." I said. His moaning stopped for a second and he looked at me. I raised the gun and fired once into his forehead. It was a big gun, a six shooter, the splash on the wall made it obvious it wasn't a sissy toy gun like a 9 mill. I pocketed it, spit on the body and walked away. There's just some people that don't get it, you don't go around pointing fucking six shooters at the back of other people’s heads. Fucking people. Luckily, I had a good lawyer, and claimed it was self defense; I got two years for shooting the guy in the head, it being deemed unnecessary measures by the courts. So in reality, he wasn’t that good of a lawyer, but it could have been worse. ¶ 21:28
I wandered the streets for about half an hour and found a small tavern in a heavy residential area; it was right at the base of some skyscraper of an apartment building. The place was pretty full; the sign above the door maxed the capacity at fifty. The place sort of stops for a second as I walk in, almost every eye in the room does a second look kind of twitch, the bartender walks to the elbow of the L shaped bar, directly towards the entrance to the bar, and says,
"Y..you can't be in here buddy, w..we don't need no trouble tonight buddy." The old bartender says, he sounded like an old east coast drunk that cleaned himself up just enough to get a job in the bar on account of the free booze, upon which he was undoubtedly indulging.
"I didn't come here to cause shit buddy, I just need a fuckin drink."
"Well um were all outta drinks there bud, you'll have to go someplace else." Was he fucking kidding me?
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Look, we just don't want no trouble here is all." I thought I needed to be trashed to start shit with people, but being sober was starting to prove easier than ever. It wasn't worth my time or effort to fend off all the loyal customers of this dingy little pub, so I left, making a mental note to do something about that when there's nothing better to do all I wanted to do was get drunk.
So I walked on, twenty minutes later I found myself near a little bar, independent of other buildings that looked a touch lower class than the other, but possibly more accepting. I walked in, and the twitch was only seen from the bartender. He watched me approach the bar. "How's it doin?" He asks. "Could be better, could be worse." I say, with a meager smile. He smirks, "What'll it be?” "Anything draught, doesn't matter." As I take a seat at the bar.
The place is dimly lit, the smell of ancient nicotine mixed with the ever present smoke mixed with alcohol and that weird smell that comes off of the extremely depressed; like their heart is still beating, but their body isn't really willing to keep on living, so it begins to rot, sort of metaphorically, but it's noticeable visually and through scent. It was weird, but I sort of felt safe here.
A few drinks later I began to look around, I had sort of stuck to looking at the liquor bottles lined amongst the walls, and decided there may be better things to see. Alcohol has always been like a little immediate confidence boost, with no time to really conceive how the events that I willingly create can be dealt with. My eyes locked with a few people, most turned away after a second or so, but one guy from the far end of the place, stared straight back. I nodded, and he nodded back. I continued to look at him and he stood up and started walking towards me. He looked like he was in his fifties, but it kind of looked like he was actually thirty or so, with years of substance abuse under his belt. "You know me man?" He says. "Nah, can't say that I do." I say. "Then why the fuck you nodding at me man?" He asks. "Honestly man, I don't know, I was just looking around, beer makes me do stuff I wouldn't normally do I guess." Again, no mood for fight, just want be drunk please.
"Well, I’d appreciate it if you'd look the fuck over there," He says, pointing to the other side of the bar. "Will do man, will do." I say as I sort of turn back towards the bar. "Good, it's a good choice there buddy." He says and walks back to his seat. I order another beer and leave. It's only eleven, I’m sort of buzzed, I figured walking around smoking cigarettes and weed for the next few hours could go either really good or really bad, but rationalizing with myself, I figured it was still worth it. I had a knife, but it'd probably be my demise at this point in time.
So I walked, for about an hour, occasionally going down one of the innumerable hidden alleyways or side streets this city is infamous for. The sidewalks were lengthened due to these alleyways, being the number three place on the cities most likely predator locations. People always walk right near the road due to this. I heard it was just one guy, who snapped, realized that he could just drag people into these little tiny alleyways, no cameras, bad lighting, and have his way. I'd sort of like to believe this is just one guy, but it's a whole fuckin bunch of these whack jobs. There’s people in this fucking city that literally hunt humans down for fun, and it takes the defense department up to and over a week at a time to catch most.
I really question why I came here, of all places, to build a music store. I could have just stayed where I was, selling drugs, playing poker, the lotto, and off track betting. I really tried to remember why I came here, but it didn't come to me. What the fuck could have convinced me? No tourist pamphlet can be that convincing. Another few blocks and I would be home, I didn't particularly want to go, but I had started to get sober, and that wasn't something I needed at this point.
As I approached the building I noticed a guy leaning against the walls opposite the elevator, I decided the stairs were always good, even when you're drunk, maybe even especially. The lights were so dim, all the plastic coverings coated with years of dirt and spit and other shit that I can't recall seeing anywhere else. As I approached the seventh I was relatively winded, that aside, I heard the door directly above me slam open and footsteps, two people. One jumped down the first flight, the second flight and then abruptly stopped when he saw me. He was carrying my guitar, no case, and a DVD player.
He quickly tried to run past but I grabbed him by the throat, took out his left knee and grabbed my guitar before he hit the ground. As I turned to rest my Washburn against the wall the other guy, carrying my Pignose amp in one hand, and all of the movies I owned, came crashing into me, he turned the corner saw me kneeling and his friend gasping for oxygen so he dropped the movies and the amp and tried to kick me in the face. I drew back in time, punched the first guy in the solar plexus, hopefully taking even more air away from him and, in all my drunken glory, uppercut the second guy. It hurt like fuck, I broke a finger, hit him right under the chin but he sprawled back, dazed a little, and stepped on a few of the fallen movies. I went up to him and punched him in the stomach a few times, and I got the feeling he wanted to tap out, so I threw him down the stairs. The gasping man on the ground watched helplessly as I threw his friend head first down a ten set, and then focused his eyes back on me. I grabbed him by the opening of his jacket and lifted him up. He looked relieved; he had almost regained his breath.
"Shouldna done it." I said. And with that, I tossed him down the flight as well. At this point I didn't even care to see if he landed on his friend or not, I just WANT BE DRUNK. I fucking hate this place. I grabbed my guitar, and picked up a few select movies, then I realized my player had been smashed, the movies weren't that great, so I tossed them back on the ground, grabbed my Pignose and proceeded upstairs. The door was open, smashed in, and the place was trashed, but it was trashed when I last left it regardless. Drawers, cupboards, everything on hinges had been searched. There was very little of value in this shitpit, but then it occurred to me, I had a silver ring, sentimentally valued, that had been given to me as a gift a long time ago. I didn't wear it all that often. It had been in the bottom drawer of a dresser in the bedroom.
It was missing, so I decided to see if they had dropped that too. I figured they would have had enough time to sort themselves out and fuck off, so the ring could be gone, but if there was still a chance, than why not. Both were still lying at the bottom of the stairs face down beside each other, I looked around for the ring, couldn't see it. One of them still had it. Neither was moving, and I didn't really like how they were able to maintain such awkward positions. I turned the first one over and it became apparent, his head flopped and gave into gravity fully. Great, now I gotta hide a body. I searched his pockets and found money, about five hundred, and a nice gold Zippo, but no ring. I turned the second guy over and realized he too had a broken neck. The good thing was, he had my ring. As I was placing the ring on my finger the guy who had been waiting outside had been creeping up the stairs and turned to see me looming over his dead friend with my back to him.
"Hands up fucker" He says, real aggressive like, walking towards me, "Or I blow yer fucking brains out right here and now." I wasn't about to have this shit-for-brains crackhead shoot me in the back of the head for the five hundred and twenty bucks I had in my pocket or the nice Zippo. I raised my hands slowly and waited for him to say something else. "Gimme everythi..," Spinning around I grab the barrel of his gun with my left hand and push his arm up in the air and to his right. He let out a gasp and grabbed the back of my shirt, pulling and ripping it. A shot went off, followed by another, both into the floors above. I twisted the barrel downwards and into his stomach. He leaned forward with surprisingly little resistance so I took the chance to bring my elbow down onto his temple with all the force I could muster. The moment my elbow impacted he flinched and a third shot went off, this time into his lower intestine. He screamed, released the piece of my shirt that he had managed to tear off and fell to his knees.
I tore the gun away from him and stepped back a few feet, breathing heavily I watched the man lie down and begin to cry. "I'm comin, I'll be there soon, I can almost feel it. Momma, I’m coming!" He continued to scream into the night air, the sound of his voice echoing through the dark corridor. "Lemme help." I said. His moaning stopped for a second and he looked at me. I raised the gun and fired once into his forehead. It was a big gun, a six shooter, the splash on the wall made it obvious it wasn't a sissy toy gun like a 9 mill. I pocketed it, spit on the body and walked away. There's just some people that don't get it, you don't go around pointing fucking six shooters at the back of other people’s heads. Fucking people. Luckily, I had a good lawyer, and claimed it was self defense; I got two years for shooting the guy in the head, it being deemed unnecessary measures by the courts. So in reality, he wasn’t that good of a lawyer, but it could have been worse. ¶ 21:28
