Chaoter 4 - A fresh Start

I exit her apartment and lock the door behind her as asked. I don’t know if it was my newfound purpose of the vase of lilacs in a vase on a table at the end of the hall, but I suddenly get a breath of fresh air. It certainly wasn’t me that was smelling good, wearing the polo and khaki’s for two days now, probably smelling like an old boot, but I didn’t care. I had the confidence that I could infiltrate Shifty’s underground world, or at least find out if it was real, then when my story hit the world, I’d be famous. It was like this wave of exhilaration was just flowing around me as I made my way down the brightly lit stairwell to the street below. I get to the lobby and walk across the carpeted floor to the exit where the doorman opened the door, he smiled as I leave and puts his hand up to his cap as if he was saluting me. I find it fitting because I know in a few short months he’ll remember me as the hero that saved the crime wave plaguing central city. I get my bearings as I hit the busy street, noticing the hustle and bustle of the people on the street all heading off to work. I think that in a certain way, I myself am going to work, just in a different way. “I need money,” I whisper to myself, then I realize that if I can actually land work for Shifty, he might pay me, then I’d be able to survive. Then for a second I worry that when my story does go public what he will do to me, but it quickly passes when I think about indictments and the money I’ll get to pay for body guards and police protection and I know then that I’ll be protected for life. I make my way west, walking down 1st street the opposite way of all the people headed uptown in cars, taxis and on foot. I see people in expensive suits, trenchcoats, dresses and hats, and they are all beautiful, only beautiful people in Central City get jobs, or maybe they’re beautiful because they have jobs and can afford expensive clothes, plastic surgery, and hair plugs. I wonder how beautiful I will be when I get rich. As I continue westward down 1st street then cross over G street the people and cars become less and less, but I start to notice more and more homeless people and dejected human beings in sweatpants and frowns on their faces, and I know I am getting closer to Lucky’s. I start to get nervous, like what if I try to pull something on Shifty and he shoots me, or calls the cops, or even worse, if he isn’t the big player that Mark told me about. Just as I reach the door to the bar, in the dusty window the OPEN sign flickers, then stays lit. I open the door an go inside.

I enter the bar and walk inside. It’s no different than all the times before, except this time I am scared I nearly piss myself. The pool tables to the left are empty, as expected since the place just opened, and the booth where I normally sit to the right looks enticing, but I know I have a different agenda than getting wasted before work. I think to myself that this better work, if not for the story, then at least so I can have a little bit of money to go look for the next big thing. Shifty is sitting at his stool watching tv as usual, which I find odd because there is no way he could have switched on the OPEN signed and shuffled back to his stool before I got in, so I take a better look around, and that’s when I notice him. There’s a figure sitting in the far corner, in a chair in between the pinball machine that doesn’t work and the wall. He is sitting with his legs straight out, left ankle crossed over his right. I think he is black, but I can’t tell because he’s wearing sunglass, a black brimmed baseball cap, and Lucky’s is always so dark. I walk down the bar and sit about three stools away from being right across from Shifty.

At first Shifty didn’t even notice me, so I short of cleared my throat, then I see he eyes slowly roll over to where I am sitting. “Glass of whiskey please?” I ask hoping he can’t tell the nervousness in my voice. He grunts, comes to his feet slowly and pulls the bottle of whiskey from the well and pours a double, at least he remembers my drink. I laugh and say “you know this is my last 5 bucks, I probably should use it for cab fare to the unemployment office”, then I throw my hands up and look around “but you know, I just like this place so damn much!” And I laugh again. Shifty sort of exhales quickly through his nose after he sits on his stool and I can’t tell if I made him laugh or if it really took all the energy he had to sit back down. “You know, I really ain’t sure what I’m supposed to do,” I shrug, “hey, you see a lot of people come in here, construction workers and whatnot, you ever hear of anyone saying that they need people for work?” I can’t believe I am doing this and can’t tell if I am being smooth or a complete fucking idiot.

Shifty just sighs, “nope.” He’s voice sounded less gravely today and I assume it’s because he hasn’t smoked with 100th cigarette yet.

“Ah, well, it was worth a shot, I’ve kind of been asking everybody”, I chuckle again, “I’ve come to the conclusion that only beautiful people get work in this city.”

Then Shifty cackles, and I don’t know if it’s the TV or what I said, until he mutters, “people are only beautiful cuz they got jobs kid.” He smiles, but not at me, he’s just staring at the TV. His smile is wide enough that I can see a little bit of his teeth, one of his bottom fronts is missing and they are all this grey color, like dried cement. I start to think that Shifty isn’t so different from me. Then we say nothing. 5, 10, 15 minutes pass and I finish my drink. I don’t have any money to pay for another.

“Kind of out of money, whattya say you help me out? IOU? On the house?” I ask knowing the likely answer. Shifty doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, and doesn’t take his eyes off the TV screen. “Oh well,” I laugh, “that was worth a shot too.”

Here’s where I realize I am truly fucked. Shifty is just a degenerate bartender, probably not even the owner, of a bar located on the fringe of the nice part of town. He is no mover, no shaker, and he certainly can’t help me out. I stand up, pick up my black wool coat from the stool next to me and put it on, “well maybe I’ll see ya round man,” I say as a leave. I turn 90 degrees and just as I take my first step I see Shifty out my peripherals run his left hand through his white dirty hair then swing it forward like he is swatting at a fly. Just as a I reach the door I hear a voice.

“Hey kid.” I turn around and it is the figure that was once sitting in the corner. He is in fact a black guy, medium build, black leather jacket, black jeans and snake or alligator boots. With his cap still on, he tilts it slightly upward so I can see his shiny face, “wanna make 500 bucks.”

At this I perk up and look spirited, and I don’t know why, if I now think that Shifty could be who Mark said, or just the thought at what 500 dollars could get me. He can noticeably tell that I perked up when he said 500 bucks and that it was an inevitable “yes” from my body language.

“Exit the front door, and meet me around back, we got a job for you.”

Chapter 3 - A night on the town

It wasn’t but three out of my apartment building that I realize my car keys were attached to the keys I just locked inside my apartment. Not that it really matters because the boot on my Taurus from unpaid parking tickets would prevent me from going anywhere and I didn’t have the money to get it removed anyway, so it’s just one more thing that I am leaving behind. I decide that I need some caffeine to counteract this buzz I got going on, so I head towards this coffee shop that Maria and I frequent. Maybe I headed that way because I also thought I might see her there and would be able to state my case and talk her in to coming back, I mean I’ve done it before. I only had like 35 bucks, so that’d buy me like at least a small coffee, and for some reason I thought to myself that it would be enough to sober me up. The wind had stopped but it was getting dark so the chill started and I was happy that I brought my coat, but completely regretting that I had left all my clothes back there. I was just leaving behind my old self I kept saying to myself, knowing full well that it would take a lot more than that to get me where I wanted. Right before I get to the coffee shop I hear a voice.

“Yo! Dude!” a familiar face yells from across the street and starts running over. It’s pretty typical to run into an old college friend in this part of the city as this is where the yuppies move to try and start their careers and lives. I decide I need to perk up and create the illusion that a complete shit storm is not circling my life.

“Hey man, what’s going on?!” I grin when he finally gets about three feet from me.

“Not much dude” I hate it when he says dude because it always sounds like doooood, “How’s about you?” He looks very typical for this neighborhood, wearing a black suit and black tie with a white shirt, not an expensive ensemble by any means, but he still looks more legitimate than I do. He looks like a recent college grad going on a job interview. His brown hair is gelled and spiked looking very hipster, white teeth grinning back at me, and the aura that he has everything going for him.

“You know, same shit---“

“—different day” He interrupts, “I feel that. Where you off to?”

“Oh, y’know man, bout to grab some joe” I say, still faking a smile.

“Joe...” he laughs “you’re such a fuckin’ old man dude” Then he motions to his left with his head, “Well man, I’m about to go to this club, whattya say you come with and we catch up?”

I really don’t want to go, I mean I got so much shit I want to get done---oh wait. So I stand there for about ten or so seconds with this pondering look on my face and this kind of helps because I am able to continue the illusion that I also have something going for me. Then I think about what kind of person he is. This is the kind of guy that had sex with a lot of chicks and then bragged about it, and at every club he’d ask everyone “what about that one? Or that one?”, then whichever one got the highest marks on the hotness scale he’d end up taking home and rub in everyone’s faces. He was also charismatic and knew everyone where he went, so if you went out with just him he’d run off and talk to people he knows and not introduce who he’s with leaving them behind to fend for themselves. I wonder if this is the kind of situation I want to be in, then realize that the situation I am in already sucks and it really can’t get much worse.

“Yeah man, sounds good. Where we headed?” I ask with kind of an excited tone.

“I know this place, kind of unknown, but very hip. But kinda weird.” He says, confident that he’s cool and still knows the places that are interesting and exciting enough for people our age…or younger.

“I dunno man, I don’t really have a lot of cash…” I say hesitantly, because now I am hinting at my homelessness, poorness and overly douche-bagness presence I bring to the table.

“Oh don’t worry dude,” now I feel better because it might be cheap, “they don’t take cash anyway.” Well, fuck, I think to myself. “You got a credit card don’t you?” He asks somewhat condescendingly.

“Well yeah but---“

“Ok then, let’s go!” He exclaimed, “we can walk it from here.”

So, we start to walk east down Main street. He’s got this pep in his step, like so full of energy and liveliness. He was a year behind me, so I convince myself that his life doesn’t suck yet because he is still younger than me, and briefly I feel better because I think in a year his life will be complete shit and some young fucker is going to meet him on the street and make him wonder why he is not successful and have an apartment and an income and a hot chicks all about. All the while he is asking me about what I am doing for work and where I live and how Maria is, questions I all avoid, then he starts telling me about what he is up to.

“Yeah man, I just got this job working for this financial company as an advisor. In fact Maria was called in to consult for us a couple of months ago, she must have told you that yeah? Dude, we should all get together and hang out!” He says so smug, and all I can think to myself is fuck this guy.

“Yeah. That’s prolly not a good idea.” I say, now more sullenly that I have been pretending to be.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” He asks almost offended.

“We kind of broke up…” I start to think about explaining more, then I stop myself.

“No shit!” He basically yells in my ear, he had this ecstatic tone in his voice when he says No. “When?”

“Umm about an hour ago.” I say, kind of smirking, letting him know that if he tries to console me I’ll punch him in his peppy face.

“Shit bro, that’s fucked up, well—we—are—gunna—get—you—laid—tonight!” He says happy that he now has an objective in tonight’s adventure. “In fact we’re here doooooood!”

I have no idea what he is talking about, nothing about where we are says that we are at a bar, or even near Central Square where all the bars are. We are at a cross street but it’s too dark to read where we are, and all I can see are row houses down one street and a huge brick building, dark as the night in front of us. There are no signs, no windows, and most importantly no noise coming from outside. Usually outside of any bar in Central City, there are wasted college kids spilling into the street talking about getting a Taco at El Cancun or some term paper they’re not going to do, but not here, it’s silence. There aren’t even cars driving down the streets or a lot full of cars and I start to get really nervous about where this guy has taken me.

“What do you mean here?” I ask in that where have you brought me? Voice.

“Yeah man, told ya it was unknown, but I’m telling you, this place is nuts, we gotta go in through the basement.” He brings me around back of the brick building and we hop over a fence and start walking across this field of dirt and rocks. I start to think that flip flops were a bad idea, because when I died, I really wanted to be wearing nice shoes. About halfway through this field I see a small light attached about 8 feet up on the wall of the building and a small inlet in the brick. When we reach the inlet I see that it has about steps going about 15 steps down. “No ID’s, no bouncers. I know this place from a guy I work with.”

I start to imagine all the types of places that this establishment could be, yet everytime I envision a place just like Lucky’s and really wish I answered the phone when my mom called so I could have told her that I’d be dead soon. Then he reached the door, twisted the dull silver doorknob and held it open for me. There were about 30 more steps going down and it was pitch dark as we walked down. He gets to the next door, a huge metal door, painted dark red about 50 years ago, paint chipping off, rust spots everywhere, and he pulls it open. The noise was deafening. The place was enormous and packed to the gills with dancing men and women among the flashing red and green lights. We walked in, but couldn’t get very far because the second you opened the door you hit someone with it. Mr. Roboto played loudly and a giant screen at the back of the room played the music video for the song.

“TOLD YA—THIS—WAS A GOOD PLACE DUDE!” He yelled while smiling from ear to ear, “LET’S GET A DRINK!”

The bar, or dance floor, or whatever, was all one floor and I noticed that there appeared to be no one watching the door or keeping a watchful eye over the patrons of the “club” as we made our way towards the screen, where I had assumed there was a bar. I noticed everyone had a plastic bottle with a lid that they were holding while they danced or talked (yelled rather) to each other. Every now and then, I’d see a person with the lid off drinking from their bottle. We finally make our way to the beneath the screen and I pat my front right pocket to make sure no one stole my wallet, that’s how close we rubbed up against each other as we meandered to the screen. There under the screen were four guys in black t-shirts. We make our way to the four guys and one of them yells to me “100 bucks! Credit Only!”

I slap my credit card on the table and lean over to my boy “THIS PLACE IS WILD!” Hoping that my credit card won’t get denied.

“WHAT?!” Is all can he reply as he looks around, no doubt looking for some chick he can have sex with.

The guy who took my credit card has one of those old school machines where they put the card on a piece of carbon paper and make a copy and I think that’s great because I know that they will serve me because they wont know my card has been maxed out since I was a senior in college. He gives my card back which I take and then drop on the floor because it is useless and maybe I can say that it was stolen and get some money for it. Then the guy in the black shirt turns, takes a green Nalgene bottle and dunks it in this big trashcan filled with liquid, it makes a couple of huge bubbles and once it is filled he screws the lid on and gives it to me. “100 BUCKS FOR THIS DUDE!” I yell to my awesome friend who brought me to this amazing place while holding up the bottle.

“OH SHIT MAN—I SEE MY BUDDY! BE RIGHT BACK!” It takes a second before I register what he says, and before I can respond, he bounds through the crowd and disappears into a sea of people.

“fuck…” I whisper to myself. I should have known better than to go anywhere with this asshole. He always bounces away to see his friends and never comes back. It’s been 1 minute, 2, 5, and I just stand there under the screen and contemplate what to do here all by myself. I look down at the bottle in my hand, unscrew the cap and start chugging the liquid inside. It tastes like every type of liquor you have ever thrown up on in college all mixed together. I’m in the process of chugging when an hour glass shaped figure walks up to me. I bring the bottle down to my hip and look at this brunette beauty of a stranger with a bright red dress smiling at me.

“YOU DON’T WANNA DO THAT!” She yells.

“WHY NOT?” I yell. Then grin and bring the bottle back to my lips and finish it off. Then everything goes blurry.



***

The bright light and warmth of the sun wakes me immediately. I’m laying facedown on some type of hardwood floor, wearing the same clothes I wore out last night (not that I had anything else to wear). I can taste metal in my mouth and realize quickly that it is dried blood on my lips. I open my eyes and everything is blurry at first but then starts to come into focus. I am looking at what I believe to be a bed about 2 feet in front of me, pink sheets hanging down to the floor. I quickly turn onto my back, sit up, and twist 180 degrees to gather my surroundings. Next to the bed is a window with white lace curtains, and a TV on a stand right in front of the bed. The room I am in is small, maybe 10 feet by 10 feet and all it can really fit is the king size bed, a tv and me laying on the floor. No one is in the bed and it is made, with perfect creases and yellow pillows on top. I turn another 180 degrees and as my eyes come more into focus I see a small kitchenette with dishes piled up and a stove with only one burner on it. I turn 90 degrees and see a door slightly ajar and can smell lilac and hear Sara McLaughlin coming from inside. Just then a figure walks out of the bathroom and my eyes come into full focus.

“Oh! You’re awake!” She exclaims. “I thought you’d be asleep until next week.”

“Umm what happened?!” I yawn as I ask this, but have kind of stern tone to my voice.

“Well do you mean after you chugged the factory fluid?” She laughs.

“Yeah, I guess…” I gather enough strength to bring myself to my feet.

“Well let’s see, I’d like to start by saying I’ve never seen anyone dance like that before,” when she says this it strikes me as odd because I am a terrible dancer, “then you tell me that your girlfriend just left you and your dog died and the place where you lived burned down and I just felt so empathetic that I decided to show you a good time.” Nice, I think to myself, maybe I got lucky last night! “So I brought you back here and we edge towards the bed and you go to kiss me and you pass out standing up, then fall flat on your face and start bleeding. I would have done something, but I had to wake up early for work. I’m just glad you’re not dead.” She laughs.

“Um. Yeah. Me too I guess. Say, can I use your shower before I go?” I ask. I probably stink like a sewage plant and wonder why this gorgeous, tan, perfectly figured woman would ever take me home.

“I gotta go to work, just lock the door on your way out. I wrote my number down and left it on top of the TV. This town is so fucking crazy, everyone here is into some sort of craziness. I swear if someone wrote about this city, it’d make national news.” She chuckles.



Then I think about Lucky’s and the bartender and what Mark said. Then I think, This is it, I found my 60 minutes moment.



She leaves, moving her ass with a swagger that I know she wants me to see but I don’t know why, shutting the door behind her. I take off my clothes, head towards the shower, smiling the whole time about the great things I am about to uncover.

Chapter 2 - A Cold Realization

I stumble out of Lucky’s and turn down Wabash street towards my apartment. The wind has picked up now and spring has yet to hit the city so I pull my hood up over my head, plus this allows me to not make eye contact with the passersby, those who have jobs and people who are making judgments about me from my dirty, unwashed blond hair, stubble face, and overall homeless look I have come to feel so comfortable with. I just know that when I get home Maria will be there sitting on the couch leaning forward towards the coffee table my mother gave me staring at the computer answering emails from her cushy “work from home” job, judging me for smelling like whiskey at 3pm and wondering why I am home early. For a brief second, I contemplate not going home right away and at 5 o'clock show up pretending that I am coming home from a productive day at work and that I might actually be able to help out with the rent this month, but I am an overly honest person and decide that no matter how drunk I am that I have to come clean.

Maria and I live above a Deli, seems fitting that my outlook of shady transactions behind “employees only” doors could actually be occurring right below where I live on a daily basis. We live in a good part of Central City on the corner of Union and Main, and I am grateful for Maria’s well compensated job because otherwise I’d be living in a studio in the ghetto of Cottage street, or worse. I walk quickly with my hands in the pockets of my hoodie past the Deli owner who is outside sweeping at nothing and shivering from the brisk air. “Hey kid” he says cheerfully as I walk around the back of the building towards my stoop.

“Hello Mr. Demarco.” I say, even gloomier than I feel. He says something inaudible to me because I am walking so fast and the wind has started to blow harder. I just respond with a loud “yep!” as I almost leap up the first two steps to the door. The key to our apartment never goes into the lock correctly and I fumble with it for a few seconds before twisting the handle and entering the first floor of the apartment building. The lobby, if you want to call it that, is the same way it always is, the weird musty smell of dust and salami, that hippies bike chained to the banister of the steps going upstairs as if someone would actually steal the piece of shit, and the weird brown paint on the wall that is so old it seems as if the building caught fire and no one bothered to repaint it. I hate the stairs leading up to my apartment, there is no easy way to walk up them without sounding like a herd of buffalo, they are so old and rickety that with every foot that hits the unpainted wood it makes a clear stomping noise and every time a foot gets lifted it makes a loud creak that even the customers at the Deli can hear. I continue on up the steps and walk as quietly and softly as possible so that Maria wont hear me, though it is nearly impossible to do so. I come up to the third floor of the building and walk down the hall to our apartment, its easy to find because it is number 319 but the 1 is missing, fell off years ago when we were still in college, half excited to see her and half scared of what she will say about my recent job failure. I have to use yet another key to unlock the door and enter the apartment since Maria is always afraid of a break-in even though we live on the “right side of the tracks”, as she puts it, but this key is easier to use and I quickly but quietly turn the handle and go inside.

“Maria? Baby I’m home.” I shut the door more forcefully as now there is no need to be quiet, she obviously notices that I am home. The kitchen is the first part of the apartment as you enter, and as usual, the dishes are cleaned and drying on the dish rack next to the sink. I toss my keys on the counter and walk down the short hallway to where the living room/bedroom opens up to the spot she normally spends her days answering the emails and writing the critiques for financial companies that she advises. It’s a small apartment; the bed is jammed up against the far wall opposite the couch but next to the TV which swivels to point towards either the couch or the bed. We didn’t mind the size because it was near the subway and…well…it was ours. It was an expensive place, but before we graduated our parents helped us with rent and it was still cheaper than living on campus at State. As I enter the apartment I can’t help but notice that the TV is not on or swiveled towards the couch, which is odd because I know that Maria can’t get a minute of work done if her Court TV isn’t playing at full volume. After I notice the TV, I look over the couch where I expect her to be sitting Indian style leaning in towards the laptop, when instead I see nothing but an empty place where she normally sits. I think this is strange but I quickly associate this with her going out with a client or meeting a friend for coffee or something, until I see the note in my ass groove on the couch:

Your editor called, he said you left your favorite pair of cheap-ass sunglasses on his desk (fuck, I really liked those glasses, they made my head look smaller) after you called him a asshole for FIRING you for not doing your job. As it turns out, your not the person I met while we were in school and your inability to maintain even the most mundane of jobs has proven to me that you will never be able to provide the things that I need to be a happy woman in this relationship. I am leaving, I have packed my things and am moving in with a friend. I told the landlord that I was moving out and that you are now solely responsible for the rent. I just can’t sit here while your life slowly dwindles away and you continuously count on me to survive. You have to go out into the world and rely on yourself before you can ever turn into a man. In fact, I don’t think you are even capable of that, so I went ahead and called your mom and told her of the situation.


Best of luck, you deadbeat loser.


Maria

P.S. The dog is dead.


I flip over the piece of paper this is written on and realize it is a copy of the electric bill which has a total of $140, and I think to myself “shit, I don’t have $40.” I can’t believe that Marco is dead so I bend down and clap my hands while yelling “here, Marco, here boy!” only to hear nothing back. I walk over to the bed to ponder taking a nap before my Ukrainian landlord kicks the door in and evicts me by tossing me out the window. I pull the sheets back and see my dog, poor puppy Marco lying in my bed frozen as the ice rink at Central City Park. Just then, the phone starts to ring, I look over at the caller ID which says "Momma Dukes". I sigh, hang my head, drop my pants, take off my hoodie and throw on some old dirty khakis and a polo shirt, grab my black wool coat, and let out quiet “fuck” under my breath as I leave my keys on the table and walk out the door.

Chapter 1 - Lonely Feelings

I always wondered about the gangster movies I watched as a kid. I thought about big time mob bosses and goons alike, the people who supposedly ran millions of dollars in illegal transactions getting together to discuss how to make millions more from other illegal activity. In the movies, these bosses and thugs, the places they met never seemed logical to me. They always met in the back of some deli or in an abandoned warehouse or something, places that seem ill-fitted for the big money schemes they were discussing. I always wanted them to meet at some huge mansion or on a yacht or something. And the gangsters themselves, people who could injure, rob, and kill on demand, never seemed to fit right either. You’d expect someone to be tough and fit, after all they have to chase down the enemy, beat them up, and run from the cops if necessary. I remember watching these movies and thinking to myself that if this was real life, those overweight, aging goons would never be able to carry out the crimes they represented. It makes you wonder, the next time you go into your favorite deli or drive by that old paper factory, if there aren’t some back room dealings going on at that exact moment, some scheme to bring down a Politician, making a huge arms purchase, or taking out a contract on someone’s life. Kind of makes you want to peer in through that “employees only” door or wipe off the dust from a window of that old factory to sneak a peek. It’s the journalist in me that wants to discover those types of events, some big story that would get reported by Ed Bradley on 60 minutes. However, the days of journalist curiosity were behind me now, the movers and shakers of the reporting world had decided that my work was not significant enough to be brought to the public. Sure The Central City Tribune and the Sunday Republican had purchased some of my work, still waiting for a slow news day to print them, and a year after they had purchased my last article I pretty much accepted the fact that they would never go to the press. In fact, I am sitting in this bar thinking about all of this because the Editor of The Weekly Times had just told me to clean out my desk, it was no longer worth it for them to employ me if none of my work was ever going to print. I was actually surprised – surprised that they hadn’t done it 6 months ago when I submitted my last piece on the cop who rescued the baby from a house fire only to drop him on the street handing him over to his mother, killing him instantly. My editor said there was no motive to print it, there was no hero and no happy ending, which is pretty much all the Times printed, stories with happy endings. Since that last article was rejected, I just sat at my desk, not even going out on field assignments or following leads, because there was no real point. Instead I browsed the internet for celebrity marriages and divorces, watching endless youtube clips with my feet up on the desk drinking gin carefully poured into a Coke can for easy concealment. I guess that was also a factor in why I was fired…

This place I’m at, Lucky’s it’s called, though there is nothing Lucky about it. In fact it’s the exact kind of bar that you’d expect from those gangster movies, dimly lit, dusty bottles on the shelf, one type of beer on tap. There’s a fat, white haired, cleanly shaven bartender sitting on a metal stool flipping through channels of the 13 inch TV placed carefully on another metal stool about 6 feet away. Every time you ordered a drink he seemed bothered by having to get up, and as often as I came there I don’t think I’ve ever said more than “whiskey, on the rocks, better make it a double” to him. All he did was grunt and moan when he stood up, then placed the glass down hard enough in front of me to make an authoritative thunk sound as it hit the wooden bartop and saying “three fifty”. For all intents and purposes he was the quintessential nobody, the person who is exactly the kind of guy you’d expect working at this dive bar, the same guy you forget almost immediately after you leave. The bar itself would make most people uncomfortable to hang out in. It made you feel like a mugging could happen at any time or if you looked at the wrong person you’d catch an ass whooping, especially a scrawny fair skinned college graduate like myself. I was confident here though, I had seen most of the locals around, and besides, if anything went down I knew I was tough enough to handle my own. I was never really a big guy, but I knew how to fight and I thought quickly on my feet, usually grabbing something that I can use as a weapon.

I’m sitting at my normal booth looking down at my glass, the beads of water running down the outside of the glass wetting the napkin below my drink contently occupied with feeling sorry for myself, when I hear a voice.

“Anyone sitting here?” A man’s voice asked. I looked up to see a middle aged man in a grey suit, white button up shirt but no tie, kind of like a business man, but more like an insurance salesman who would talk to anybody if there was a chance of bundling home, car and boat policies together.

“Just me.” I muffled, lowering my head back down to look at my glass, which was almost empty.

“Well do you mind if I sit with ya?” He smirked as I looked back up at him, then around the empty bar at the dozen or so empty booths.

“There are empty tables all around…” And I lifted my hand to point to some at the other end of the room.

“Oh I know, but you look like an interesting guy and it’s sure as hell looks like you can use a good conversation.” He chuckled when he said hell and his tone was more sympathetic than condescending.

“I’m not…and I don’t, but if you want to sit here, by all means, just don’t expect it to be very exciting.” I really didn’t want to talk to anybody, in fact I never want to talk to anybody, but for someone without a job or job prospects, if 30 minutes talking to this guy could help me to find a job selling life insurance to old ladies, I might entertain the idea.

“Oh, don’t underestimate yourself, I bet you’re a pretty interesting kid.” He exhaled deeply when he sat down after unbuttoning his coat, and after he sat, he slid into the booth all the way to the window and said “Whiskey?”. I nodded. He throws his hand up, no wedding ring, and shouted “hey Shifty! A couple of Whiskey’s over here!”

He was a pretty fit guy, more muscular than myself and his long brown hair was supposed to be slicked back but it had started to come undone from what I had assumed was a long day of work. He opened up his wallet to get money to pay for the drinks, but the bar was too dark for me to be able to see how much money he had or what state his driver’s license was from. The bartender, who I now discovered was known as Shifty, shuffled over and placed two glasses down. “Seven.” He grunted from a frown with a cigarette hanging between his lips. The man held up a ten dollar bill and Shifty grabbed it and shuffled back to his stool.

“So, off of work today?” He asked after taking a sip of his drink and then held it up by his chin to cool his face.

“I just came from work.” I now started to make eye contact with this stranger, because I figured if he’s not gunna leave, I might as well get involved in the conversation. “I’m a - I was a writer.”

“A writer huh? Do anything I’d know of?”

“Nope.”

“You said you were a writer, what happened there?” He asked as he leaned in to get a better look at my sullen face.

“I got released by the Times today.” I leaned back against the padded backing of the booth and for the first time since sitting down, truly lifted my head above 45 degrees.

“Released – I like that, a good euphemism for getting fired.” He laughed, “any particular reason why? Could it be because of the sweat suit you got going on?” He laughed louder as he pointed at what I was wearing.

I looked down at my blue hooded sweatshirt with the word STATE printed in white. Then looked up and pretentiously respond, “A lack of published material and no current effort to pursue new projects, according to the notice from my editor.”

“Damn, that’s cold. Maybe he just isn’t a fan of Central City State University.”

He laughed again. “When did you graduate kid?”

Cringing at the word kid, I respond through my teeth “Two years ago.”

He smiled, showing all of his bright white teeth, a smile fit for an insurance salesman and said “That’s cool.” Then he ran a hand over his head to smooth his hair back down, “Harvard, class of ’97.”

“Harvard huh? I knew a couple of guys who wrote for the Crimson.” I said in an exciting tone because now I had some knowledge I could bring to the table.”

He chuckled “Crimson? What? You’re a riot.” Not knowing what to make of his response, I sunk back down in my seat and hung my head.

“So you’re a journalist huh? Ever hear any ghost stories?” He leaned in almost all the way across the table when he whispered this.

“Ghost story?” I looked up and asked with a perplexed look.

“Yeah, like a rumor, a myth, some fairy tale that someone who knows someone who saw something go down, like a massive conspiracy or murder or something.” He said even quieter.

“Ummm no, not really…I don’t really –“ before I could finish he interrupted.

“-well I got one for ya. You know that bartender over there?” He signaled with his head over to the direction of the man on the stool.

“Shif-ty?” I asked.

Still whispering he responds “yeah, well apparently he runs this city right from this very bar”, he taps his index finger on the table, “buying off politicians, drug trafficking, and even shady dealings with foreign diplomats. From what I’ve heard this guy is the guy to go to if you want to get anything done in Central City. They say nobody works for him, and everybody works for him”

“Wait, that guy?!” I said louder and pointed.

“Shhhh, hey man, that’s just what I heard, who knows if it’s true, like I said kid, a ghost story, a legend.” He had his finger up to his lips the whole time he said this. Then he downs what’s left of his drink and gets up.

“Sorry you got fired today kid, my names Mark, I come in here quite a bit, maybe I’ll see ya around.” He buttons his jacket back up and extends his hand for a shake.

“Taking off? Got to go back to work? What do you do?” For some reason I never think of anything to ask to spark a conversation until it’s over.”

“No time to discuss that kind of stuff, take it easy kid.”

I don’t stand but I grab his hand and give a firm shake like I was taught at the career center at State, “Yeah, man. See ya ‘round.”

Mark turns and swiftly walks towards the door, he pulls out some paper money and drops it on the bar on his way passed, “another drink for the kid, see ya later Shifty.”

I quickly dismiss this tale Mark told me and come to the conclusion that he was just fucking with me. Drop my head back down to it’s original position and wait for Shifty to bring me my drink.

...Why I am a Hypocrit

I've always considered myself a non-conformist. I hate people telling me what is cool and whether or not I should like something because it is cool. I've always rooted for the team (though always a Boston fan) that had the worst record the year before, because I never wanted to be someone who hopped on the bandwagon. I always like the bands that don't get airtime or the movies that aren't hyped to no end. Over the years I have developed a deep love for all things indie, how did this start you ask? Well let's explore...

When I was a boy I had this cassette player and two cassettes, Metallica (black album) and Green Day (dookie), for all intensive purposes, very mainstream music. I listened to them so much that after a while I couldn't stand listening to them anymore, so I flipped over to FM radio, and no surprise there, pretty much Metallica and Green Day. One night I couldn't sleep, so I reached over and grabbed my cassette player. In greater Springfield Massachusetts, radio was limited to either mainstream rock, classic rock, or hip/hop R&B. I flipped over to 99.3 the best chance to hear decent music, and the announcer says "It's 11pm, welcome to Alternative Rock hour." What was Alternative rock? I had never even heard of this before. So I gave it a listen...silence...fade in acoustic guitar...then the following words "The Roof, the roof, the roof is on fire...". It was bloodhound gangs, Fire Water Burn, the year was 1996 and I was 11 years old. Listening to this song I was hooked, not on the bloodhound gang but on this type of music, this underground gem no one had heard. I didn't know the song, because the announcer didn't say who it was, and internet was in it's infancy and I didn't have it anyway, so I asked all my friends. No one had heard of the song, and I feared I dreamt it and would never hear it's glory again. Two weeks later it's all over the radio and everyone is turning it up when it comes on. I'd tell people I liked that song when no one even knew they existed and no one believed me...shit...I was on the bandwagon...trying NOT to be on the bangwagon.

 Now, non-conformity is the new cool, the new conformity and my entire self-image is skewed. When people ask if I like the Beatle's I say I dunno because I never listened to them because everyone expected me to. Now, I listen to Kings of Leon, have an iPhone and wear Banana Republic. I guess what is most important is now that I realize I am in-fact a conformist, rather than a conformist trying to portray myself as a non-conformist. I still listen to indie music and like independent film, but now that it's cool, well I just don't know anymore. Conformity isn't all bad, gives me stuff to talk about with people I guess...

and now for your listening pleasure...The Bloodhound Gang playing Fire Water Burn

...I wrote a short story (bad language)

Asshole

I was sick of people treating me like a sack of shit. You’d think I was exaggerating, but I wasn’t. I must have had this aura, this presence, that people sub consciously pick up on where they think to themselves “I can be a complete prick to this guy and feel good about it”. People have always said rude things to me, things I know they wouldn’t say to any other; however with me it was open fucking season. Well I had it, and I had decided, standing in that airport terminal that I wasn’t going to take it anymore. Anyone who gave me shit was getting it back tenfold. That’s when it happened, it didn’t take long for this decision to have its complete effect on my life…

Needing to charge my phone, I was searching the walls of the airports for outlets, and found some among a line of wheelchairs. Noticing that there were about 7 of them, and the likelihood that all 7 would be needed in the next 20 minutes was relatively small, I plopped down in one and plugged my phone in. Now keep in mind, if 7 geriatrics stepped off the next plane, I’d get up in a heartbeat, but for right now I was just minding my own business. That’s when it happened. This middle aged fellow completely covered from neck to ankle in denim walks up to me and says in smokers voice “you know, it’s pretty insensitive to sit in that wheelchair when you don’t need it.”

                This did it, this took the cake, broke the camels back, screwed the pooch. I lost my shit, and instead of jumping up and kicking this guy in the nuts (probably protected by denim underwear), the world came to a stop and I had this moment of clarity. Finally I had the perfect response to someone fucking with me. I got out of the chair, turned slowly, faced him and said quietly and calmly, “you know it’s insensitive to wear all denim at an airport where people can see you”. After I said it, inside my body I was screaming and celebrating my victory, my heart pounding at the thought of this guys spirits just getting crushed. It was doing all of this inside celebrating that I failed to see his fist coming towards me. The second it impacted with my neck I knew I was dead. I could feel my Adam’s apple hitting the back of my throat and my larynx begin to swell. I could feel warm blood start to enter my lungs and stomach. As I fell to the ground, clutching my throat, the cops started running over. People now at this point just looking, no one but denim guy and I know why this happened. This is when I had my second moment of clarity.

                Lying on the ground of some airport in some city I have probably never visited, I looked up at my assailant and smiled. Coughing and gasping for air I realized I had won, finally, and ultimately. Not only did I zing this guy to the point of homicide, but now he’s got to look at me smiling at him and for the rest of his life he won’t know why. He now has his life in jail to think about why he did this and why I reacted the way I did. He’s there because he’s an asshole, and he met another asshole who decided not to take anyone’s shit. That and because he had really bad taste in clothing.

...Money Never Sleeps

I recently watched Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, which is actually Wall Street 2. A continuation directly following when Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) is released from Prison from his conviction on Insider Trading among other things. His only daughter (and only living offspring) hates him and wont give him the light of day. However the man she is engaged to, Jacob, (Shia LeBouf) is also a Wall Street player, and better yet, he's pretty good at it. Jacob and Gekko "trade" eachother, Jacob attempts to re-unite him with his daughter, and Gekko gives advice on how to further his career. The firm Jake works for just went under and worst off, he squandered his recent 1.4 Million Dollar Bonus. He eventually seeks out the man who destroyed the company he worked for, the CEO of another firm Bretton James (Josh Brolin), and looks for revenge while working for the new company. Jacob attempts to do all this while trying to secure 100million for an alternative fuel company he has nested a good deal of his nest egg in. Everybody wants something, corporate executives, family members, but what exactly does Gordon Gekko want? Does he want to reunite with his daughter or does he secretly yearn to be back on top?




My Take: Overall I thought this was an excellent movie. Anytime Oliver Stone does a movie, expect it to be good. This is a continuation of Wall Street, but you don't have to watch the first one to understand the second. It has good twists, although if you really know Gordon Gekko, there's not too many surprises, but they are presented in an excellent manner.
 The Pros: The cinemetography was really good. Michael Douglas, Josh Brolin and of course Shia LeBouf are great in their roles. It definitely gives insight about the state of the economy and what happened in 2009. The soundtrack is great and mostly consists of david byrne/brian eno songs when they collaborated in 2008, but it fits really well.
 The Cons: I like movies, so I'm a critic, and even though there may be more cons than pros, it is still an excellent film. That being said, I feel like the ending was very Hollywood, almost like what everyone was rooting for, which doesn't seem to fit into a "stone" movie, but I still enjoyed it. The characters at the Federal Reserve and the Treasury were fictional, so if you knew who the actual players are/were it can be confusing, but I think stone made it that way because the story itself is..well..fiction. There were a few minor plot errors, like a few things didn't add up, but all in all nothing to get in a twist about.

 It's a great film, I suggest you watch it, you might actually learn something.