Ok, the last one I started went a good 60ish posts. Let’s start a new one. Same rules. Add as much or little as you like. But maybe no Draculas, since we all seem to have been enboredened by it.
“Gimme a Yuengling” Benny shouted as he sat at the bar. He was too focused on his fistful of lottery scratchers to notice who was bartending tonight.
It was ‘Her’. He smelled her perfume before he looked up.
He scratched furiously with his lucky nickle, pretending to not notice her. But that scent…that intoxicant…his brain was flooded with memories past. The best, and worst.
Before he knew it, he had scratched all the tickets. The giant pile of scratchings on the bar and all over his hands made him wonder how long he was lost in that scent…
It was a mixture of Honey and Lemon. And maybe that woman’s deordorant. He looked up at 3 empty bottles on the bar. God, he had drank three and didn’t remember doing it. On the edge of tipsy-ness he decided not to drink anymore. In his hand was a winning ticket. He squinted he thought it was a $10 winner. No, wait that’s $100!!
“… he had drunk,” she corrected him. It was then the he remembered that teaching English was her day job. She also pointed out that he held a $1000 winning ticket, which he had misread in his “tipsy-ness.” God, he loved this woman!
“With this $10,000, I could English you AND your nipsytess!” Hes struggled. “3 vodkas, please”
He slammed the 3 shots down. Bought the bar a drink and walked to the back to the Mens room. He was unsteady on his feet.
And then blackness took over…
[del]It was a vampire! Before he knew it, all his blood had drained into[/del]
(Sorry - I couldn’t resist. Carry on.)
As his head hit the floor, the last thing he was conscious of was the English teacher saying “Shouldn’t “mens” have an apostrophe?” Her words echoed in his subconscious mind as he slipped into the blackness.
When he came to his mouth had the distinct taste of a thousand hard boiled socks filled with thorns and raked over his tongue.
He noticed how the world around him pulsed and warped and existed in a constant state of tremor, then realized it was his eyeballs. He wiped his forehead and realized he was sweating what he had been imbibing the night before. His head pounded with the beat of a hundred hangovers and he wanted to stop existing. The bartender wiped some mugs and asked “Hair of the dog that bit ya?” Benny tipped his empty Yeungling bottle, saw the secondary drool pooled at the bottom, and nodded his head.
It was then that he realized the winning lottery ticket was missing. With a sense of dread, he reached into his pocket hoping to find his lucky nickel. It had been with him through much darker days and he never left the house without it. The moment he knew it was gone, the room started to close in on him.
The last thing he saw was the MENS sign. The sweet smelling bartender was drawing an apostrophe on the sign with a Sharpie. He wondered was that correct, or not.
Then he realized he didn’t care about punctuation right at that moment, although he also knew he should probably relieve himself before it was too late. Everything turned to black and he fell into a formless void of nothingness.
A wafting aroma stirred in his dreams. He was coming up to the surface of consciousness.
“Why do I keep passing out in the bathroom of this shitty bar?” Benny asked to no one in particular.
“Oh shit! What time is it!?” He searched frantically for his phone and found it on the filthy floor beside the filthy toilet. “11 o’clock! I’m two hours late for work! Oh, PM, 14 hours late. Oh, Saturday. I’m 2 days and 14 hours late.”
“Hey,” he shouted to no one in particular, “where are my pants?”
“Well,” said the bartender, “you tied them around your head last night. You kept running around the room yelling ‘I’m a pirate! A-HOY MATIES!’. After Jerry clocked you with the cue ball, you finally stopped moving long enough for Lonny and the guys to throw you in the bathroom and lock the door. I think your pants are by the pool table.” Then the bartertender turned and walked away, tossing one parting shot over his should, “By the way, you’re a chump when you’re drunk.”
He crawled along the wall. People were giving him a wide berth. He stopped and looked up at a guy wearing his pants.
Scorsese re-read what he’d typed so far. “Christ, this is shit!” he mumbled under his breath. He highlighted the entire page and hit the Delete key. “Time for some Liquid Inspiration,” he thought, reaching for the Johnnie Walker Blue. A few minutes–and a few belts–later, he felt ready to start again.
“I think I’ll let Margot Robbie keep her clothes on this time,” he chuckled to himself.