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Dark Poetry #3
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Happy Hour withJoe
| Dark Poetry #3 |
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Happy Hour withJoe |
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wranx Member Elite
since 2002-06-07
Posts 3689Moved from a shack to a barn 
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Happy Hour with Joe I was sitting in a bar that was owned by Joe, a friend of mine. He had just bought it some months previous and had spent that time “cleaning” the place up. Which meant that on this particular afternoon, the only people there were my Joe, who was behind the bar, Hard Rock, his bartender, who was in the kitchen, Stella, a retired schoolteacher, at her accustomed table by the front door, and me, your narrator, bellied up and havin’ a beer. Joe and I had been discussing the “pros” and “cons” Of life in our adopted town “Pro”, the price of Real Estate. “Con”, the people that owned it “Pro”, the way that the young girls looked. “Con”, the way they looked by eighteen. “Pro”, the physical beauty of the town “Con”, all of the ignorant inhabitants Just as we were starting to dissemble the local politicos And small town socialites, An oldish young man with an overall griminess about him strode through the front door and past me toward the back. Occupying the back pocket of his jeans (the one that didn’t have a dirty red bandana hanging from it) was a handgun a revolver, from the look of the handle. “Hey, Slick!” Shouted Joe. “Where do you think you’re goin?” “I’m goin to the bathroom” answered the stringy one. “when I kicked you outta here yesterday”, said Joe, “it was for good” “Screw you! I’m goin’ to the bathroom” “Betcha don’t make it” said Joe, on the rocks, as he displayed two pounds of a glittering .45 calibre life changer. With the clatter of a few more cubes, Joe invited the trespasser to deposit his pistol on the floor and depart…forever. “It’s broke!” the local talent whined, “I was just gonna scare you with it.” With the tinkling of one last ice cube, Joe replied “it worked, you almost scared me into shootin’ your sorry ass.” When the greasy stringman complied, I looked up from his poor Neglected paperweight, nee Colt toward Joe, who said in his Familiar whiskey warm voice. “Aw, Jeez, can you believe these freakin’ people?” Hard Rock apparently did. He was slipping a snub-nosed hole punch back into a Crown Royal bag. Stella too, was a true believer. Joe had teased her into showing us the “friend” that she was holding down inside her purse. Still teasing, Joe mentioned that I had seemed a little “nervous”. Not teasing at all, I told him “I don’t mind, so much, being the only one in the room, not holding a handgun. It’s being the guy in the center that I’m not too keen about.” Just another blast from the past. I know that this bites, I may rewrite it one day ~wranx "Writing is a perfectly natural thing to do...provided it's done in private and you wash your hands afterward"....Heinlein. |
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| © Copyright 2002 E.F.Rose - All Rights Reserved | |||
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wranx Member Elite
since 2002-06-07
Posts 3689Moved from a shack to a barn |
Maybe I need an editor. Try this. Happy Hour I was sitting in a bar that was owned by Joe, a friend of mine. He had just bought it some months previous and had spent that time “cleaning” the place up. Which meant that on this particular afternoon, the only people there, were Joe, who was behind the bar, Hard Rock, his bartender, who was in the kitchen, Stella, a retired schoolteacher, at her accustomed table by the front door, and me, your narrator, bellied up and havin’ a beer. Joe and I had been discussing the “pros” and “cons” Of life in our adopted town “Pro”, the price of Real Estate. “Con”, the people that owned it “Pro”, the way that the young girls looked. “Con”, the way they looked by eighteen. “Pro”, the physical beauty of the town “Con”, all of the ignorant inhabitants Just as we were starting to dissemble the local politicos And small town socialites, An oldish young man with an overall griminess about him strode through the front door and past me toward the back. Occupying the back pocket of his jeans (the one that didn’t have a dirty red bandana hanging from it) was a handgun a revolver, from the look of the handle. “Hey, Slick!” Shouted Joe. “Where do you think you’re goin?” “I’m goin to the bathroom” answered the stringy one. “when I kicked you outta here yesterday”, said Joe, “it was for good” “Screw you! I’m goin’ to the bathroom” “Betcha don’t make it” said Joe, on the rocks, as he displayed two pounds of a glittering .45 calibre life changer. With the clatter of a few more cubes, Joe invited the trespasser to deposit his pistol on the floor and depart…forever. “It’s broke!” the local talent whined, “I was just gonna scare you with it.” With the tinkling of one last ice cube, Joe replied “it worked, you almost scared me into shootin’ your sorry ass.” When the greasy stringman complied, I looked up from his poor Neglected paperweight, nee Colt toward Joe, who said in his Familiar whiskey warm voice. “Aw, Jeez, can you believe these freakin’ people?” Hard Rock apparently did. He was slipping a snub-nosed hole punch back into a Crown Royal bag. Stella too, was a true believer. Joe had teased her into showing us the “friend” that she was holding down inside her purse. Still teasing, Joe mentioned that I had seemed a little “nervous”. Not teasing at all, I told him “I don’t mind, so much, being the only one in the room, not holding a handgun. It’s being the guy in the center that I’m not too keen about.” Still bites, just less so. Sorry ~wranx (the moron) "Writing is a perfectly natural thing to do...provided it's done in private and you wash your hands afterward"....Heinlein. |
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Krishankins
since 2002-06-23
Posts 972Texas |
I like the story. Especially the part about being in the middle. Nice write wranx!! A bird never flies so high that it can't hit the ground |
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brian sites Senior Member
since 2002-06-25
Posts 1475usa |
this scene is funny! (in hindsight,I'm sure) Like the mix of sweet, sour, salt and bitter in all that you cook up wranx. and about the moron thing... yeah...... like, we're all just perfect little writers around here. Someone once said just post it! BS. I never aimed at reality; I aimed at truth. --Orson Welles |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
I liked this. I thought the descriptions real and beleivable, and it had a bit of a colloquial tone to it that lent it character. Good detail, and the setting would lend itself quite agreeable to a series. <--HINT  |
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Tiersdin Member Elite
since 2000-11-17
Posts 2364east coast |
Good story, Wranx... and no mention of acid this time! *wink* ~Tier "I shall never bond again, as I have bonded with you..." |
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devina Member Elite
since 1999-10-28
Posts 3539Cali |
I do so enjoy your frolics in the past man!!! Would love to have been a fly on your table right then... and wranx? stay in the CORNER next time!!! (smiles) good write...the only "suck" was in the tequila format, ya know???  Open arms can be the most fragile in the world... |
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wranx Member Elite
since 2002-06-07
Posts 3689Moved from a shack to a barn |
Well...maybe this doesn't suck as bad as I thought. I'm just trying to tell some stories from back in "The Day" as they say. Preciate the kindnesses. ~wranx "Writing is a perfectly natural thing to do...provided it's done in private and you wash your hands afterward"....Heinlein. |
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Temptress
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-06-15
Posts 7136Mobile, AL |
It bites? It certainly does not bite. I loved the story, and they way you told it. I'm just waiting on more. I will not bend to the cowardice of a silent judgement. |
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arthur Senior Member
since 2001-08-14
Posts 678england |
dam nothing like that ever happens in the north of england in fact nothing much happens in the north of england come to think of it arthur |
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catalinamoon
since 2000-06-03
Posts 9543The Shores of Alone |
I like your storytelling. Sandra |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
This had a nice earthiness about it. And it doesn't bite! (no teeth) Enjoyed, wranx! These smiling eyes are just a mirror for the sun. |
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