Maybe Chronicles continued
Or did I? I can’t fucking tell anymore.
Drifting I …..
I sucked down my drink, and slammed the glass down rather forcefully. This knocking at the door business was starting to get to me. I may just rip the damn thing off the hinges. If the bitter chill of autumn wouldn’t blow threw and give us all pneumonia I would. Actually I’m a very responsible, respectful father and person for that matter. I swung open the front door and asked the middle aged balding man standing on my front porch wearing a cheap suit, who was obviously a detective of some sort, “What the hell do you want?” A good day to you sir, I’m looking for a Mr.Fisher, a Mr. Fran….”Yeah, you’re looking at him”, I interrupted.
[knock, knock, knock]
Son of …. Maybe it is real this time. I down my drink and slam the glass down on the counter with a loud clank. I think briefly about finishing opening the letter just to read a few lines, but this person outside was being persistent with there knocking. That’s all I seem to hear lately, real or not. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, I close my eyes, knock, knock, knock, I bury my head under my pillow, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, I wake up to knock, knock, knock, I’m in the shower, knock, knock, knock, I’m taking a cra….Ok I’m sure you get the point. Anyway, for the record, I’m a huge fan of knockers, but this is just ridiculous. I reluctantly walk over and jerk open the door. Jesus. It’s Marcy from the bar I’ve been doing some volunteer quality control chair testing at. She’s become increasingly more friendly over the past few weeks. Friendlier than usual even, and her type of friendly is saddling up with anything that’s upright and will buy her a drink. Hell, a couple about a months ago I saw her prowling over a poor chap in a wheelchair. Great. Although in her defense she’s not a bad looking early 40’s bleach blonde barfly. Just not my style. I’m even pretty sure she still has all her teeth. I ask her how the hell she found out where I lived and she said Tony the bartender had told her (for a small price no doubt) She said he thought I needed some company, I had been alone for too long, all cooped up in this house with no adult companionship. She invited her self in and slide past the threshold as I stood there with one hand holding open the door. Sure, come on in I said. Can I get you a drink? Not waiting for her to answer I head to the kitchen. Sure I could really use one, she says, as I hear her drop her jacket on the floor. As I finish pouring the two drinks she meets me at the bar just as I turn around and she grabs the waist of my Levis and rips the top three buttons open. I spill one drink down the front of shirt and drop the other, shattering it on the tile floor. I grab her by the wrist and explain to her that it is indeed a very warm gesture (I was definitely moved so to speak) but that was something I simply didn’t need right now. I don’t think she’d ever been turned away before, judging by the look on her perplexed face. I walked over and picked up her jacket and thanked her for stopping by. I told her I didn’t mean to come across as a jerk, and that it had nothing to with her (although that was a bit a of lie) I showed her to the door, tipped her a $50 and told her bitch slap Tony for me as soon as she sees him (and with her new found funds, it will no doubt be in 3 minutes flat). I shut the door and again dead bolted it shut. I buttoned my pants back up and let out a long sigh as I ran my fingers through my hair. I took off my wet t-shirt and flung it over the back of the couch. I walked over to the thermostat and turned it up a few degrees. Jeez, my life is getting weird. Going back into the kitchen I stepped over the broken glass and remember the reason I was in here in the first place. The letter. That damn envelope. I pick it up, walk over to open the fridge, and grab a pickle and a can of beer. At least they won’t make a mess all over my damn floor. I make my way to the den and sit down at the pub style table I have in front of the fire place. I open the beer and poke a hole in the top with my pocket knife; I call it a carburetor, then take a long slug, and set it down. I manage a burp. After taking a bite I place my pickle on top of the can. Now I turn my concentration back to the envelope. Maybe. I stare at the stupid thing. Maybe I shouldn’t open it. Maybe I should just chunk it in the fire and say fuck it. She’s dead anyway right?
Drifting I …..
I sucked down my drink, and slammed the glass down rather forcefully. This knocking at the door business was starting to get to me. I may just rip the damn thing off the hinges. If the bitter chill of autumn wouldn’t blow threw and give us all pneumonia I would. Actually I’m a very responsible, respectful father and person for that matter. I swung open the front door and asked the middle aged balding man standing on my front porch wearing a cheap suit, who was obviously a detective of some sort, “What the hell do you want?” A good day to you sir, I’m looking for a Mr.Fisher, a Mr. Fran….”Yeah, you’re looking at him”, I interrupted.
[knock, knock, knock]
Son of …. Maybe it is real this time. I down my drink and slam the glass down on the counter with a loud clank. I think briefly about finishing opening the letter just to read a few lines, but this person outside was being persistent with there knocking. That’s all I seem to hear lately, real or not. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, I close my eyes, knock, knock, knock, I bury my head under my pillow, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, I wake up to knock, knock, knock, I’m in the shower, knock, knock, knock, I’m taking a cra….Ok I’m sure you get the point. Anyway, for the record, I’m a huge fan of knockers, but this is just ridiculous. I reluctantly walk over and jerk open the door. Jesus. It’s Marcy from the bar I’ve been doing some volunteer quality control chair testing at. She’s become increasingly more friendly over the past few weeks. Friendlier than usual even, and her type of friendly is saddling up with anything that’s upright and will buy her a drink. Hell, a couple about a months ago I saw her prowling over a poor chap in a wheelchair. Great. Although in her defense she’s not a bad looking early 40’s bleach blonde barfly. Just not my style. I’m even pretty sure she still has all her teeth. I ask her how the hell she found out where I lived and she said Tony the bartender had told her (for a small price no doubt) She said he thought I needed some company, I had been alone for too long, all cooped up in this house with no adult companionship. She invited her self in and slide past the threshold as I stood there with one hand holding open the door. Sure, come on in I said. Can I get you a drink? Not waiting for her to answer I head to the kitchen. Sure I could really use one, she says, as I hear her drop her jacket on the floor. As I finish pouring the two drinks she meets me at the bar just as I turn around and she grabs the waist of my Levis and rips the top three buttons open. I spill one drink down the front of shirt and drop the other, shattering it on the tile floor. I grab her by the wrist and explain to her that it is indeed a very warm gesture (I was definitely moved so to speak) but that was something I simply didn’t need right now. I don’t think she’d ever been turned away before, judging by the look on her perplexed face. I walked over and picked up her jacket and thanked her for stopping by. I told her I didn’t mean to come across as a jerk, and that it had nothing to with her (although that was a bit a of lie) I showed her to the door, tipped her a $50 and told her bitch slap Tony for me as soon as she sees him (and with her new found funds, it will no doubt be in 3 minutes flat). I shut the door and again dead bolted it shut. I buttoned my pants back up and let out a long sigh as I ran my fingers through my hair. I took off my wet t-shirt and flung it over the back of the couch. I walked over to the thermostat and turned it up a few degrees. Jeez, my life is getting weird. Going back into the kitchen I stepped over the broken glass and remember the reason I was in here in the first place. The letter. That damn envelope. I pick it up, walk over to open the fridge, and grab a pickle and a can of beer. At least they won’t make a mess all over my damn floor. I make my way to the den and sit down at the pub style table I have in front of the fire place. I open the beer and poke a hole in the top with my pocket knife; I call it a carburetor, then take a long slug, and set it down. I manage a burp. After taking a bite I place my pickle on top of the can. Now I turn my concentration back to the envelope. Maybe. I stare at the stupid thing. Maybe I shouldn’t open it. Maybe I should just chunk it in the fire and say fuck it. She’s dead anyway right?
posted by MrFisher at 9:13 AM
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