Dug up and old piece of writing I did a few years back. I actually enjoyed reading it.. despite having written it. Will distribute in audio form soon.
This is related to a project (or compilation of projects) and hobby I plan to break into.
Since it is such a short piece, the mechanics of the writing style may not be made clear just yet.
Consider that the protagonist is the narrator in this story. The protagonist sees himself as a man worthy of adulation and praise, and as such, interprets anything others say to that effect.
However, once the actual quotes are used, his self perception is betrayed and it’s made clear what a dumb ass he really is.
* * *
It was the annual St. Patty’s Day festival and parade. I was in the tavern on 48th and Constitution doing some investigation.
“That you 86?”
He was among the more respectful of my associates. Always had the info I needed when the clues were in hiding.
“Ain’t no one else’is good lookin,” I replied secretively across the franchise.
“Hey you don’t look so ugly from this far away.”
He sidled up beside me and set some papers on the counter. The barkeep snooped by but I flicked my cigarette at him. He tried to assert himself but I made sure to put him in his place when he reached for my chest.
“Hey my man, ‘zat gold or summin on yer chops cuz it’s all pretty and such” I said with impeccable composure.
“You mind yourself in my bar. I know how you get.”
I gave my comrade a nod and smiled. He was impressed with my authoritative demeanor.
“You’re about a stupid one,” my associate said, full of admiration.
We thumbed through the massive stack of paper clipped pages, studied everything from coffee rings to typos, and concluded that the documents were forged. This all concluded after my twelfth shot, wherein I decided I’d had enough unless I planned to get tipsy.
“I appreciate your help with the documents 86, but I didn’t come here to be manipulated into carrying you home. Get up.”
I managed my way to the bathroom without being noticed and relieved myself in some amazing ways. My rendesvous departed. It was just me and the world again. I liked it that way. The janitor walked in, unaware that the bathroom was occupied. Out of respect for my person he quickly digressed.
“I just cleaned that and we’re about out of 409. Now I gotta make do with Comet.” he said apologetically.
I took little time, with the lead I now had, in briskly walking back to my apartment which was four blocks down. There were many people that didn’t want to see me get back, and I suspected they were in cahoots with my suspects. They planted streetlights and Clydesdales right in my path. It made for a rough ride, a ride that would have killed an ordinary man.
And then I got back to my apartment, hung my coat on the rack, and took a moment to catch up on the Sunday evening news. It was animated.
Exhausted from my day’s worth of service to humanity, I nodded off on the couch. But the phone rang within inches of LaLa Land. It was my sexy damsel. She was missing me.
“Back from Yardie’s yet?”
“Why do you always think I went there,” I reasoned with her.
“I can smell the liquor through the phone.” She was an astute one.
“Coming over?” I asked, a romantic flare in my voice.
“Yea,” and she hung up. She was so excited that she hadn’t any words left to say of the matter.
I showered up and put on my Sunday best, even though it was nearing Monday. Once my hair was blow dryed and slick, she knocked on the door. It was as though everything was synchronized, or written in a story. I answered the door with a rose clinched between my teeth. It was my landlord. I removed the rose and explained the situation. She laughed and expressed how much she envied my damsel.
“Tell her she can talk to me anytime, about anything,” she offered. I then handed her the paycheck for the month’s rent.
“You always strike me as the type that won’t ever turn up with the cash. But you do,” Praise was in her voice. She then left and I readied my rose again.
No sooner had I waved goodbye than I heard my damsel walking up the stairs. So I stood at the door waiting again.
“The surprise would’ve been a bit more effective if you’d waited with the door closed,” my damsel said, shrieking with delight. “And that rose is made of linen.”
I had her right where I wanted her. “What do you want?” I asked, showing my undying interest in her very being.
“My cell. I left it here,” she replied, plowing through the couch cushions and toppling tables. Her primitive side blaring through her hard crust, as my calm and effective mystery triggered her wants and desires.
“You hungry?” I offered, totally brushing off her aggressive tendencies.
“Sure,” she answered. “Anything besides Ramen.”
Ramen was almost all I had. I knew it was her favorite, and she didn’t want me to push my familiarity with her person in her face.
We had a lovely dinner together for what seemed like a blissful eternity, and after those five minutes she left again. It took me no time at all to make her feel special and content with the evening. I then returned to my couch and pondered the forgeries I’d scrutinized that day. All the while I rested my eyes for what seemed like eight hours.
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Posted on : 06-07-2011 | By : ryan | In : Projects, Written