Ninety-Third and Second
by Karim • January 11, 2012 • Fiction • 4 Comments
Every day like today I walk in and watch him pour ferment into the mouths of woozy patrons, dispensing vice for a fee. At the end of each night he and I peel the drunkest from their stools before collecting sop-wet singles from the bar. Tonight was a good night, he said counting, and I nodded and asked how much. He told me but I didn’t hear the number. Still I smiled because he looked proud.
We walked outside, where I brought the gate down. He pulled some keys from his pocket. He locked the gate and we walked toward home. All the way we watched his profit manifest itself in every ripped regular who stumbled through their shame, smearing themselves along the walls of shuttered businesses until their legs invariably gave. Some picked fights and others vulnerable women. They each only needed the dulcet pardon of one too many before letting themselves go and he gave it to them. He was a ringmaster of hidden demons who made his living condemning callow souls to the darkest alleyways of their id.
We walked over them smashed across sidewalks there with the day’s dross and dog shit. I should have known better than to trust the bartender but I was young and hadn’t yet discovered bottom.
Me likey. Dross is a good word, which you just taught me.
I agree with Ethan. I hope this was cathartic for you.
With the discovery of Self the existential crisis diminshes! Godspeed on your mission.
It is a human trait to make mistakes we all must learn from them.I have also learned very valuable lessons from slippin’. Bartenders are human too. I consider that it takes two to tango.If you are at the bar and no-one has a gun to your head.Taking that last drink to your lips could make you a participant.