Sunday, December 6, 2009

Overcast at Best

Lazy afternoon, huh.
The 90-proof goes down sweet and simple. Swallowing brings a pleasant trail of warmth downwards. I follow it with a chasing breath of the least intolerable cigarettes money can buy. Ah, if this isn't the life, then it's at least a worthwhile distraction. Exhale, and smoke pours up into curls. Refill glass, and repeat.
Double-taps of rain drops sound out each passing moment, but I've long since lost count. I'm not sure I can remember when it wasn't raining. Still, the hat's in good shape, and I tip it back from over my eyes. The classic hat-straightening for the ladies, gets 'em every time.
I look up, nobody's in my little office anyways. Still, it pays to practice. Can't let those smooth muscles go slack. Keep working out and all that jazz.
Whiskey, smoke, breath. The cycle continues, measured and quantified in uncounted rain. Lazy afternoon in the office. Unpaid overtime. Maybe it's undertime, I can't remember.
Feet off the desk, sit upright for a moment. Blood rushes to my head and forces me to think. Shit. When was the last one? The last broad who wanted the bigger half of the divorce settlement by showing the court her husband's dirty laundry, the guy who wanted to find his old girlfriend, the parents wanting to find their runaway brat? Same damn story every time, just pick one of the above and make sure to pay my bill plus expenses.
Expenses. Shit. I fumble for my wallet. Pants emptied out onto the desk, I get up for my coat. Stumble, then steady. The 90s that went down easy are coming back hard. I'm suddenly swimming in more than just smoke..
No, no, concentrate. Deep breath. Cigarette, drag of; face, slap in; water, glass-- empty. Well, that short-sells my counter-attack. Defeated, I drop to my knees, the shock sending my stomach that much closer to my open mouth.
Don't give up, dammit. Muster the troops, come on!
One foot on the ground again, and I push down with my arms, propelling the second shoe onto hardwood. Haha, excellent. My spine pulls the rest of me to firm perpendicularity. Firm as prom night, anyways.
I lunge forward, and by some miracle, I catch on the coat, and hear no tearing. Brief prayers can be heard, and they're almost intelligible, if only for the swearing. Reach for the bulge. Pockets, pockets, wallet! Victory is mine. Hold your billfold up high, as it is the goblet of victory.
But I've forgotten that at least two hands are needed to stabilize myself, and I am earthbound once more. Stars, and a flare of pain. I must have hit my head. Probably no lasting damage.
Lying on my back, I open the pitiful thing, and a meagre 20 flutters down onto my chest, having escaped its solitary confinement. Damn, thought I had more. I'd hoped...
Elbows, push, knees, and I'm ambulatory again enough to propel myself back into the desk chair. Breath is knocked out of me, but I'm back in business. Well, back in a business, anyways. The demands of distinctly diminished capital rain into my head. Business is needed, business is needed. Business for bourbon, bed, and breakfasts. Bueno, but not today. I'll wait a few more drops to count out when to get on my feet again.
The last couple of slips signal scotch cessation, shit. Grab the lighter, flick, whirl, breathe, and ash. I straighten my hat back over my eyes, and lean back, feet up. The tobacco monkey dangling from my lips hits filter, and I spit it off to the distance. I'll just wait until the time's tapped away... Start counting...