Pages

Monday, June 7, 2010

Whiskey Dreams

Things could be worse. My neck is so stiff that I have to turn my whole body to look in either direction.  The palms of both hands are ripped across the meaty part, open and festering wounds where callouses and blisters had proven themselves insufficient to the the task of protection.  I haven't had a good nights sleep in weeks, making due with snack-sized portions of rest when both time and inclination allow.  The problem seems to be that these twin forces rarely come together any more.

I look slowly around the room that has been my home since I set out six weeks ago.  The room usually rents by the hour, by I was able to convince the manager to let me buy my time in bulk.  The one lamp flickers, and I cannot image that the bulb has much life remaining.  There is a large crack running from the door all the way to the kitchen.  I note, with surprise, that there are no cockroaches currently visible.

Still, things could be worse.  I take a sip of stale whiskey, bringing the plastic cup to my lips without moving my head; the better to accommodate my stiffening neck.  The Kentucky Rye came in a mason jar, and tastes about like you'd expect for $5.99.  For a single, bleak second, I crave a few ice cubes, but there is no fridge in the room, let alone a freezer, and there damn sure aint one of those fancy ice dispenser contraptions that they have at the end of the hall in decent places.

Still, things could be worse.  I have to go to work soon, and the responsible thing to do would be to catch some shut-eye, eat something, and maybe even wash one of the two pairs of work clothes that I own.  Anything other than sitting here drinking cheap whiskey and killing cockroaches would be a giant step forward in terms of being responsible.  Of course, the entire point of taking this job and this life was so that I didn't have to do the responsible thing.  The trade-off is that I have the time to think long and deeply about anything and everything.  I mull this over slowly, and stay where I am, and take another long pull.

10 comments:

Holly Renee said...

I can totally visualize this and get into it. Very good piece of writing!

Anonymous said...

I'm hooked, where's the rest of the story?

Allison said...

Stepping out of your confort zone a bit on this one. I like it. I didn't know you wrote fiction. I like it.

Trouble.Thinks said...

Someone needs to rub that stiff neck for ya!

Waiting to hear more...
:)

Its a Breezy thing said...

Love it!

Venom said...

Whiskey can go stale??

WHO knew?

- B said...

Hm, I think I need to catch up. I'm sucked into this story and have no clue what is going on! Why the stiff neck? What place are you renting? Oh boy, I need to read through the next few posts to figure this out.

Great writing!

Juliana said...

nice, martin. for some reason, though, i can't imagine this guy thinking, "Anything... would be a giant step forward in terms of being responsible."

i can't imagine he thinks in those terms anymore, having already made such changes in his life.

anyway, very cool. i kind of picture him as The Punisher.

Clara said...

Do not like only getting teaser snipets of these great stories.... You've definitely got some writing skillz and I say you pound the rest of your $5.99 whiskey and show 'em!

Martin said...

Holly - Thank you!

Anonymous - In process. I just need a plot...

Allison - I didnt know I did either. Thanks :)

TT - Agreed!

Breezy - Glad :)

Venom - Thats right, so drink up

B - Thanks for coming by!

Ju - Good point. Ill probably edit that at some point.

Clara - I'm not sure what skills I would show after drinking a bottle of whiskey, but writing aint one of them.

There was an error in this gadget