The Loser
In every local bar, in every town, there's that one guy who's always there. Everytime you go there, every two or three weeks, it doesn't matter, there he is, drinking the only thing he ever drinks, sitting there by himself.
He's a non-presence. Kind of like anti-matter. You notice him the same way you notice the house pool cues.
Though sometimes you may feel invisible or unwanted this guy will never relate to you. In fact, you will never have a real conversation with him.
Maybe this only happens in New Jersey. But I doubt it.
I've always wondered, strangely from afar, what animates this guy. Is he obsessive compulsive? Why does he sit there, hour after hour, night after night, not really talking to anyone?
Why doesn't he ever get bored and leave? How does he get there before me and stay past closing every night without getting the natural urge to vary his options? Does anyone know that he does the same thing every night?
In between shots, you check yourself out in the mirror. God! You look like shit. You rub the chalk against the tip of your cue and feel like an alley cat as you cast a sideways glance down the length of the bar. You rub your face and wish you had more adequate scruff. Out of the other corner of your eye you've been monitoring the ass of a girl with an absolutely gourgeous face, but who's 25 pounds overweight. Why is it you keep looking at her ass even though it's her face that's attractive?
"It's not her fault," you think, as you miss an easy shot. "Shit, look at me."
"Fuck! I can't believe I fuckin' missed that!" you protest.
Just then the female bartender swings around to the other side of the bar and lights up a brand of cigarette that's never even occurred to you. It's beneath you. You're a fucking snob. You shouldn't even be here.
She plops down next to the guy who's always there and strikes up some small talk. Just then you see that space between the crack of her ass and whatever top she's wearing and you realize why they hired her.
(too be continued... )
He's a non-presence. Kind of like anti-matter. You notice him the same way you notice the house pool cues.
Though sometimes you may feel invisible or unwanted this guy will never relate to you. In fact, you will never have a real conversation with him.
Maybe this only happens in New Jersey. But I doubt it.
I've always wondered, strangely from afar, what animates this guy. Is he obsessive compulsive? Why does he sit there, hour after hour, night after night, not really talking to anyone?
Why doesn't he ever get bored and leave? How does he get there before me and stay past closing every night without getting the natural urge to vary his options? Does anyone know that he does the same thing every night?
In between shots, you check yourself out in the mirror. God! You look like shit. You rub the chalk against the tip of your cue and feel like an alley cat as you cast a sideways glance down the length of the bar. You rub your face and wish you had more adequate scruff. Out of the other corner of your eye you've been monitoring the ass of a girl with an absolutely gourgeous face, but who's 25 pounds overweight. Why is it you keep looking at her ass even though it's her face that's attractive?
"It's not her fault," you think, as you miss an easy shot. "Shit, look at me."
"Fuck! I can't believe I fuckin' missed that!" you protest.
Just then the female bartender swings around to the other side of the bar and lights up a brand of cigarette that's never even occurred to you. It's beneath you. You're a fucking snob. You shouldn't even be here.
She plops down next to the guy who's always there and strikes up some small talk. Just then you see that space between the crack of her ass and whatever top she's wearing and you realize why they hired her.
(too be continued... )
posted by El Bozo at 4:34 AM
1 Comments:
You hanging out in Phillipsburg again?
Cool post.
G.
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