19th shot

THE 19TH SHOT

It’s a lot like breathing underwater.

What is?

Dealing with this world, It’s a lot like breathing underwater.

If you want to look at life that way…. I Guess. ..

What do you mean? If I want to look at life THAT way?

Well you say life is like breathing underwater which is impossible unless you are a water dwelling creature.

I think you are misinterpreting what I’m saying and trying to rationalize it in some fucked up simple minded way. But, I suppose that’s what you are good at.

I step away from the mind of morons and back into the world of decisive decisions. Or something of that nature being the fact that I don’t know what or how I’m supposed to continue being here. This place is like a mud puddle that never ends. It’s a good thing we are all blessed with a pair of galoshes. Some of us that attempt enough to stay away from wearing them out anyway.

It’s like a pachinko machine.

It’s like a swan dive into concrete.

It’s like snatching a bird from the roof of your house.

Hey.. Have you decided yet?

What am I deciding?

If we’re going to the museum?

Oh.. I forgot you wanted to go..

Jesus! Where the fuck is your mind at these past few weeks?

I take a moment of reflection before answering. I’ve been sitting in contemplation for what seems like a million short years. I haven’t aged during this period but I think my mind is slowly giving up on what it is that everyone wants in life. I think of a safe reply and speak.

You hadn’t mentioned it in a while, so I figured you might have changed your mind.

Oh?! So I’m dressed and looking like I’m going somewhere for no fucking reason.. What ever Rand. Fuck you.

I watch as she stands up, walks across the room, opens the door, and slams it the way she should.

I don’t smile.

I don’t stand up.

I don’t pretend.

I light a cigarette and stare out the side window into space.

Time moves forward a bit. I’m no longer peering out the window. I’m standing on a small covered bridge watching the blue gills swim through the shallow water underneath.

This isn’t the type of bridge you can jump off of when you’re sick of everything. You would have a slim chance of breaking your neck if you landed just right. But it’s just not worth the loss if you miss.

Feet taking me farther.

Feet stop.

Eyes look up.

Eyes read sign.

Sign symbols : SECONDSTOPBAR

Sound magnified in triple time.

Cigarette tossed to street.

I take a seat at the ninth science stool and count the bottles on the wall without thinking about it. Fifty three in total. Eighteen of them are completely full. The rest are in sequences or random amounts full or empty. I’m not a half full half empty person. I’m a what’s there person.

Can I get you something sir?

I move my eyesight slightly left to meet the eyes of a young bar maid. She’s not attractive in any sort of the way. She has bobbed brown hair, an extremely filthy shirt, blue jeans, and she’s mouthing the words to sexy bitch. I don’t know how long I’m sitting here looking at her so I answer.

I’ll have a shot of the fifth bottle, top row, red label.

Heh.. Alright?

She looks at me queerly with a slight smile. She grabs the bottle down from the wall, and dumps a shot into a glass in front of me.

Anything else honey?

I’ll have a shot of the ninth bottle to the right of the last, with the yellow label, with brown letters.

After eighteen shots; I’ve fixed the neglected.

Anything else? Any other certain colored bottles you’d like to drink?

I’m sorry?

Well you didn’t name any of the drinks you wanted. Just the color..

Yea, I can’t read. Thanks though. You’re Bar is now somewhat more equal. Thanks for having me.

I light a cigarette at the bar and take a long drag.

Honey, you can’t smoke in here.

I stand up slightly and catch my weight on the bar stool.

Cigarette tilted in my mouth I reach my left hand in my pants pocket and my right hand in my inside jacket pocket.

Honey.. You can’t smoke in here.

I toss a hundred dollar bill on the bar and follow it with a loud burst of sound.

Silence creeps in the room except for the radio.

The bullet ends up somewhere in the ceiling.

The cigarette falls from my lips.

My head hit’s the bar first and my body pulls it downwards to the floor.

It strikes hard against the linoleum.

I can hear screaming slowly fading out.

I hear You can’t smoke in here echoing.

I try to breath normally while someone is turning me over to see if I’m okay.

I can see their mouth moving.

I smile and tell myself they are saying you can’t smoke in here.

I try to say something but it’s like breathing underwater…