Late Night at Lucky's iv

This if the final of a series. Click here for the 1st.

Distractions were everywhere. Abigail was up at the bar. I couldn’t believe it. Start with how smashed she was when I last saw her, add the pint, the shot, and how ever many more pints and shots she had conned out of men in the meantime, and I figured she’d be home face-planted in bed. “You’re still here?” I asked in disbelief.
“Why? Do you not want me to be here?”
“Quite the opposite,” I said, “Actually I think you’re really cute.” A moment passed. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t know. I walked away.

Kevin was still up at the bar. He told me about some girl who’s number he got. “And she knows I’m only in town for a couple days,” he said.
“Awesome.” I replied, “Then she knows the score. I’m going to have a smoke, but I’ll have a beer with you when I come back.”

Laura and Eric were sitting on the sidewalk with their backs against the brick wall. So, I sat myself on the concrete and proceeded to enjoy the night. We didn't talk much.
"What was your name again? Erin?"
"Eric."
"Right. Eric."
Mostly we sat in silence enjoying the act of smoking – cigarette to mouth, breathe in, hold it, exhale. Do it again and again and again. Relax.

Then Kevin came out and announced the bar wasn’t serving anymore. Bummer, but we all knew that was coming. “Let’s all go get some beer, head back to my motel room, and keep on partying,” he suggested. I knew that wasn’t going to fly. Nobody really responded.
“I’m going to get a beer,” he said.
“If you wait till I’m done with my cigarette, I’ll go with you,” I replied.
He couldn’t wait. He was up and pacing. “How about I go get us four beers from that bar over there and bring them back.”
“I doubt they’ll let you leave with four beers. But if you can get away with it, go for it.” He stayed.

Soon enough it was time to go. Eric, Laura, and I got up and I gave them both a hug. I turned around, and as I walked away Laura said, “See you around John.” “Probably,” I replied and hoped and walked on with Kevin in search of more beer and hoped some more. We roamed the streets like hungry dogs, but it was too late. “The party’s over,” I finally conceded and we said our good-byes. “I come to Eugene all the time,” Kevin said as he took my number.
“Cool. Give me a call next time you’re in town and we’ll party.”

There was still a group of people in front of Lucky’s. I walked right through them. Onward ho.

A block away, out of a well lit alley came Abigail, stumbling about, lost, bombed out of her mind. She came at me with a smile on her face and I couldn’t believe my luck. “Oh,” she said putting her hand on my chest, “I thought you were my friend,” and started to walk on.
“I could be your friend,” I replied.
She stopped, turned around, and faced me, contemplating what had just been proposed. A moment passed, and I knew I had a chance. Then I heard someone shout "Abigail" from the direction of the late night Lucky’s group. Damn. “That must be your friend,” I said conceding my loss and she was gone like a vision in the night.

I stumbled home alone amazed how my mind could be as sharp as a tack, but my body couldn’t even walk a straight line. When I got in, I kicked off my shoes without bothering to untie them, I stripped off my clothes leaving a line of debris from the door to my bed, and plopped down on the beaten mattress.

The next morning I awoke feeling like my head was an ashtray overflowing with beer and cigarette butts. “Why do I do this to myself,” I asked. But I know the reasons why. I also know as soon as I get a chance, I’ll do it all over again.

Late Night at Lucky's iii

This is the 3rd part of an ongoing series. Click here for the 1st.

“Where have you been?” Kevin asked rather loudly. “I’ve been saving your seat. I had to fight people off like dogs.” He seemed to be making a bigger deal out of it than necessary, so I had a seat beside him to soothe his troubled soul.

He was talking to some guy about Iraq. Not good. Politics and drinking don’t mix. Politics and anything don’t mix – except maybe corruption. And I don’t like either. I knew Laura and Eric were just biding their time, waiting for their drinks, and once they had them, they were going to bolt. And that’s exactly what they did. Whatever. If I saw them again, I saw them. If not, oh well. Sometimes you have to leave things to fate.

Damn, I had to go to the bathroom again. That’s how it is when I’m drinking. Once I go, I’m going for the rest of the night. It’s like the floodgates burst open, and as soon as a beer goes in one end, it’s ready to come out the other.

I saw Eric and Laura sitting at a table surrounded by plush couches. When I came out, I got my beer and joined them. My ass sank all the way into the cushion and I propped my boots up on the table. Laura and Eric looked at each other, looked at their feet, and put them up on the table too, like it was the best idea ever and they were surprised they hadn’t thought of it sooner.

The conversation wandered here and there and everywhere. Then somehow we got onto the subject of writing. “What kind of stuff do you write?” asked Eric. “Oh, I write about my life, adventures, you know, drinking and stuff.” I knew I wasn’t explaining it too well. As many times as I’ve answered this question, you think I would’ve mastered a response by now. Finally in frustration I said, “Have you ever read Bukowski?” They both laughed, “Funny you should say that. We were just talking about him today.” So we went on talking Bukowski. “If he was alive today,” Laura said, “I’d be having his babies.”
“Even though he’s a big chauvinist?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” she answered.
Cool. I love girls that can look past all the crap and fall in love with what’s at the heart of a man. Then she started reciting his poems right out of her head. I can’t even remember one line out of a poem and here she was reciting the whole thing. It was too much.

I’m not too good at listening to poetry though – my mind wanders. And all the beer, wine, and cigarette smoke sloshing around in my head wasn’t helping. So I just sat there watching her beautiful mouth form those words and fell more and more in love with each utterance.

Eric went to the bathroom. A good time for honesty I figured. “How old are you Laura?”
“21.”
I didn’t care. I looked into her eyes and said, “You’re beautiful,” with all the confidence and sincerity that it deserved. She kind of flinched. I guess I caught her off guard, but she quickly recomposed herself. “You’re fruitful,” she replied. What the hell did that mean??? I hoped it was a compliment, but I didn’t really care. I wasn’t expecting any kind of response. There are things that build-up inside and if you don’t get them out, they get all twisted and deformed, and then when they finally do come out, and they always come out eventually, they no longer resemble the thing of beauty they once were.

Eric returned. “Let’s have a smoke,” he said. “OK, let’s have a smoke,” she said. “Come on John. Let’s have a smoke.” I followed.


Click here for the 4th and final part.

Late Night at Lucky's ii

This is the 2nd part of an ongoing series. Click here for the 1st.

“You going to get another beer?” my new found friend, Kevin, asked. He obviously didn’t know who he was dealing with. “Hell yes I’m going to get another beer,” I said as I reached in to my pocket. I love paying for drinks with cash. You pull out a big wad of bills, flick through ‘em, and toss a few on the bar like they mean nothing, like you’re a big shooter and you’re anteing up for another round. Your cards are shit and the stakes high, but you can’t fold, not as long as there’s a chance.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” I told Kevin, “will you order me a PBR?” When I got back there was a cute girl in my seat – real cute – and she was talking to Kevin. If it was anyone else, I would’ve booted their ass out of there, but I couldn’t do that to Kevin. I couldn’t ruin his chances. So I walked over to the edge of the bar and waited for my chance at a beer. He was so busy buying a drink for the cute girl, he forgot to buy mine. That’s OK. I understand priorities.

The girl was trashed. She wasn’t quite slurring, but she had that carefree, reckless manner that comes once the booze has knocked down all the defenses. Her name was Abigail and she proceeded to tell us that she doesn’t like to dress nice or wear make-up. No shit. She didn’t need to. As my dad would say, she was a “natural.”

After she got her hands on that shot of whiskey and pint of beer – both compliments of Kevin, she slid back to the seat next to her friend. Kevin watched her slide away with a not all too surprised look on his face. He had been had and he knew it. Ah well, she was out of his league anyway.

I returned to my seat – the seat next to Abigail. “I saw you earlier over at the Black Forest,” I said. “Noooo,” she replied playfully, “I don’t know the place. Never been there in my life.” Did I say she was cute? She was cute. After while she confessed that she bartends there. Then she went back to talking to her friend. Her priorities were obviously getting drunk and talking to friends - not getting picked-up by strange guys. And with looks like hers I couldn’t blame her. She could do that any day of the week. I went back to talking to Kevin.

Later her and her friend went out for a smoke. Knowing that I smoke and not falling victim to that nasty habit himself, Kevin urged me to go out there and strike up a conversation. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told him.

I walked out into the cool night air and lit-up. Abigail and her friend were pretty involved in some deep conversation about something and there was no way for me to jump in without looking like a clumsy, overbearing idiot. So I dropped it. You have to do that sometimes - be willing to let things go. And if you’re lucky, when you let one thing go, another appears in its place.

There’s this girl I’ve been seeing around town and every time I see her, everything else fades. It’s not just her looks, it’s the way she dresses, the way she moves, the way she is. There’s something about her that takes my breath away. And now here she was standing outside of Lucky’s smoking a cigarette. I wasn’t going to blow this opportunity. “I saw you at the bike shop the other day,” I said.
“I remember,” she replied.
“And I saw you earlier at the library.”
“Oh yes, the library,” she said like someone speaking of a far off place full of fond memories. “My name’s Laura,” she said and held out her hand. “My name’s John,” I said and shook it.
“What’s your name?” I asked her friend.
“Erin.”
“Erin?”
“Eric,” he said.
“Oh, sorry. Eric.”
“Do you work at the bike shop,” Laura asked.
“No I just volunteer, building bikes.”
“Cool.”
“I love bikes.”
“Me too”
“There’s something about them. They’re just so…so,” I searched for the word, “sexy.”
“Yeah.” she agreed.
And then at some point, right of the blue, for no reason, she said, “You better be careful, I might bite you.”
What? I know what I heard, but part of me is saying, she couldn’t have said that, and another part is saying, but she did. It’s not that I don’t think a beautiful girl like that could be interested in me, it’s just that I’m 39 and here she is at an age that I’m surprised she’s even able to be at a bar, and is she flirting with me? I shook it off, still not knowing what to say, so I kind of just growled like a cat – “REEEERRR.”

With our cigarettes burnt away and the first bout of conversation extinguished, she said, “Let’s get a beer Eric.”
“OK, let’s get a beer,” he said.
“Let’s get a beer John,” she added and my heart skipped with glee.

Continued in part iii.

Late Night at Lucky's

This is the 1st part of an ongoing series....

The night started off innocent enough – me wandering the campus streets with a half smoked cigarette in my mouth and a closed-off coffee cup filled with red wine in my hand. My intention was to finish that off and call it a night. Then like an unsuspecting fool, I listened to the Stones – Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. Nothing revs me up more than the Stones. Defiance, sex, soul – the Stones are the blackest white boys around.

I stopped at home to refill my now empty coffee cup and headed downtown where the action is. Where would it be tonight? The Downtown Lounge? No, I was just there Sunday. Max’s? Too many college kids. Lucky’s? Yeah, that’s where I’m feeling it, Lucky’s.

Along the way I passed the Black Forest. I considered going in. I listened to the forces that guide everything. I listened to my heart. I entered.

The crowd was sparse - just what you’d expect on a Wednesday night. A girl was up on stage playing acoustic guitar and pouring her heart out. She was tall, thin, and beautiful. I fell in love with her right there and then, but I knew that would pass quickly enough.

I tried striking-up a conversation with a few people and they were polite and all, but the Black Forest just isn’t the place for that kind of thing. Everyone’s dressed in tattoos and black and skulls and bones and metal. After while you begin to realize that it’s the kind of place where any attempt to conversate with a stranger is viewed as a weakness. So I had a couple of beers and left.

There was another guy leaving about the same time as me. We both crossed the street. “Where you headed?” I asked.
“Lucky’s.”
“Really? So am I. Mind if I walk along with you?”
“Not at all.”
As we approached he gave me a warning, “I go to Lucky’s to play the video poker machine at the bar. So don’t take it the wrong way if I’m not too social.”
“That’s cool,” I said. I didn’t care. I blow with the wind.

“He knows,” my walking partner said as we walked entered the bar pointing to the guy at the door checking IDs, “where do I sit when I come in here?” The short, Mexican guy pointed toward the empty seat at the bar with a video machine blinking, demanding attention. Kind of funny, I thought, and better yet it provided just the diversion I needed to slide past and avoid paying cover. Life’s like that. You gotta jump on opportunities when they present themselves.

I grabbed a seat up at the bar. “How’s it going?” I asked the guy next to me. “Pretty good.” It was obvious he was on his own, looking to talk. So we talked. Mostly about girls….all about girls. He traveled a lot on his job and he was always looking to score. Sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he failed, but he was always trying. “It’s all a gamble. You gotta role the dice,” I said.
Continued in part ii.

Circle K II

After a few drinks with friends, I was headed home. The daily struggles of life were pulling me down like a freight train headed straight to hell. I needed a 40, so I stopped at the Circle K.

I was in a mood to kick some serious ass. Not in a violent way, but more like, “Hey world, this is who I am, and if you don’t like it, fuck you.” All with a smile on my face of course.

There was a huge line at the cash register. What a bunch of drunks. I grabbed my 40 of Bush, because they were out of the “High Life”. What a bunch of cheap drunks. I joined them at the end of the line.

I plopped my 40 on a shelf too lazy to hold it while I waited. The woman in front looked at it, then looked at me, “That looks like a fun evening.”
I shrugged my shoulders, lifted my palms up to the skies, “we’ll see.”
“I can never get to the bottom of one of them.”
“Oh, I can. Then I come back and get another. You gotta watch the next day though. It’ll kill ya.”
“I’m all about the micros.”
“Yeah, they taste good but they’re so filling I can’t drink too many of them.”
“Well that’s a good gauge don’t you think? I drink those,” she said pointing to my suspicious looking 40, “and I get all twisted.”
“Maybe, but gauges and me don’t get along too well.”
She moved back slightly from the hips up and had this look on her face. I know the look. I have it anytime a girl says something that really impresses me. She held out her hand, “I’m Jennifer.”
“I’m John,” I said and I shook it.
She was in her 30s. Dark hair and eyes. Kind of short and stout - not bad looking, but not really good either. I knew I could ask her home if I wanted to, and I seriously considered it. It sure would be fun to get drunk, get wild and get screwed. But she just wasn’t my type.

Damn standards.

Rainy Days

We're All Going to Die Someday

“Get-up. Get moving. You know you want to go to that wildflower hike and by the look of the sun, it’s already 8 or 9.”

I know. I know. But this bed just feels so good. Can’t you feel how soft everything is, how warm. I’m not ready to move yet. You know you want to stay here too.

“OK, but only for a little while.”

My body sinks deeper into the bed, pulls the blanket in tighter. My mind goes to that place somewhere between dreams and reality where everything seems possible….

“OK. Time to get-up. Time to move….You can do it. Just push off the covers, put on some clothes and get moving. It’ll be fine once you get started.”

OK.

My mind is already moving toward the kitchen, wondering what to make for breakfast. My body curls up into a ball...

“You said you were getting up. Come on.”

Yeah, I know, but it’s not gonna happen. I know you want to start the day. I know you think it’s wrong to stay in bed. But how can something that feels so good, be so wrong? Besides when’s the last time you had a day without any appointments? Any commitments? Any responsibilities?

Yeah, I guess you’re right.

My mind and body float off somewhere up into a cloud.


That’s how my day starts. I don’t have a clock in my room. Keeping track of time by seconds, minutes, and hours is like chopping a person up into tiny little bits and then saying each piece is the same. I track time by the sun, the moon, and the seasons.

I finally get-up, put on my clothes, make my breakfast of beans and eggs – a taste of Guatemala. I turn on the computer. 10:15. I guess I missed that nature hike. Oh well, I think I got more out of sleeping anyway. I stream in some music from one of the many college stations around the country – KWVA right out of Eugene, Radio K from Minnesota, and KAOS out of Olympia. KAOS, that’s the best name ever for a radio station.

We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day – interesting lyrics to start the day off I think.

Wow, a whole day to myself with nothing to do. I used to have days like this all the time. Now I can’t remember when I last had a whole day without one slice of time where I had to be somewhere. I’ve got no commitments, no responsibilities, no goals, no plans, no schedule, no agenda, no nothing. Nothing to do but nothing. Freedom baby. That’s what I’m talking about.

Now what do I do? I could call Beth, see if she wants to hang out. No, today is a day all for myself. Let’s see, I can scan Don’s drawings for my zine, I can work on the eisil, I can go take pictures, draw, paste e-mails into my journal, read. There’s Bukowski, there’s Snow Falling on Cedars, shit, there’s all kinds of stuff I can be doing. How about the coffee shop? Yeah, I haven’t been to a coffee shop for awhile. So, I gather my journal, my books, and my water and I walk out the door.

The air is fresh. It smells of spring. There’s a steady breeze and everything is in bloom. Spring is the best season of them all. It speaks of life. But still I can’t help singing... We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you're not immortal...

I get to the coffee shop, scan the people, look for cute girls, look for anyone interesting at all. There’s a girl with every square inch of her table covered in books and papers. Must be a student. I go in and order tea. The girl behind the counter is kind of cute. “I like your necklace,” I say as she hands me my tea. “Thanks, my partner bought it for me in Peru.” I knew she was going to say that.

I go back to the tables outside wondering why anybody would want to sit inside when they could be out here. I pick a table in the sun - no other will do - and I glance over to see what that girl is working on so studiously. Venga Espanol. Interesting.

“Are you a first year Spanish student,” I ask her hoping to recruit another student for the class I’m going to take - and just wanting to talk in general. “Actually, I teach first and second year students,” she says and then goes on to tell me all kinds of things about language, culture, and education, and how they’re all related. She taught English and helped build schools in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. She studied in a program called Education and Social Change, and now she wants to teach Spanish here in America. Language and social change are obviously her passion.

I admire people like that – people that have a clear vision on how to make the world a better place and go for it. My visions change from day to day, moment to moment, so I have a hard time going after anything.

After while, I go back to my table. She packs her books onto her bike, and pedals past me. “Bye John.” “Bye Monique.”

I sit at the busy intersection writing in my journal, watching people go by. The sun peaks its head out from behind the big, grey clouds now and then. I feel like a cat with nothing to do, but sit in the sun, stretch, and enjoy the day. And I still can’t get that song out of my head….We’re all going to die, we’re all going to die, we’re all going to die some day. Sing along if you’re not immortal. Then the whistling kicks in, wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh. Wshhh, shhh, shhh… shhh, shhh, shh.