Young Writers Society

This is a 'very real' story, so I'm told by one of my good friends.

Based in New York. This is the beginning of a story. Perhaps long, perhaps short. We'll see.

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I was down to my third martini and the picture on the wall didn’t intrigue me as much as it had when I’d first entered the bar. I drew my cigarettes from my pocket, placed one in my mouth and lit it with the matches I’d found outside, lying almost perfectly placed in the dirt. It was a strange coincidence finding that small packet of matches just before entering the club and realising that I’d left my lighter at home, though I don’t think I would have been too fussed. The cigarettes did help relax me though.

I kept staring across the room at this lady, around her 40’s and obviously a prostitute. I wondered why she’d got it to the ‘business’ and how in God’s name she tolerated it. I figured she must be making a lot of dough, and probably has kids to feed.

I could hear her ramblings from across the bar. “Give us a martini, love”.

I never did like the sort of slang language people nowadays adopted. To me, the English language is what it is and shouldn’t be butchered. It wasn’t a trivial issue but it’s those small things that bug me and make me annoyed at people. I’m very judgemental, and judging her was easy.

She must have been a little older than I expected because when she turned in my direction, I could see that she was a lot more wrinkled and frail than I thought.

She chugged down the martini, olive and all, and sighed. I figured she must have had a bad night or something, she wasn’t looking too hot, though, I didn’t know her, and maybe she was one of those people who just generally look bad?

I turned my head back around and ordered another martini. My cigarette was finished now so I put it out. I sighed and look down at the table, askew with nut remains and spilt liquors. Feeling down, I sat there for hours, just thinking, and thinking…

I felt numb through those hours of thinking. It wasn’t just the alcohol either. I’d think about anything and everything. It’s sad how I worry about things so much. It’s not the big things either. Even stupid, little matters that aren’t trivial in the least get into my head and I can’t help but worry. It’s a vicious cycle that repeats everyday.

“I think it’s about time to leave, fella”, said the bouncer that had been beckoned over by the bartender to deal with me.

“You’ve been here for hours. Do you know what time it is?”

I didn’t.

“Come on. Let’s go. You best be going now” he said calmly. It annoyed me how he said it -- so pompous.

“I think you best be going, fella!” I said in a drunken stupor.

He sighed and straightened himself up before saying, “Come on. You’ve definitely had enough to drink. Let’s go”

“I have not, ya prick” I said roughly before demolishing what was left of my martini.

“Don’t make me get rough now, fella” he said.

Fella. That word annoyed me so much and the way he said it made it even worse. I felt like punching the guy.

“Leave me alone, fella. I can handle myself thankyou very much!” I replied in drunken ramble.

I didn’t expect him to grab me then. But sure enough he did. He wrapped his giant arms around me, securing my arms and proceeded to escort me to the door.

I tried to fight back but it was useless. Besides the fact that I was blind drunk, this guy was enormous. A huge, greasy-haired, guy with the odd tattoo on either arm, routine black shirt and generic sport shoes.

“Let me go… you…” I struggled. It was no use.

I hit the concrete outside the bar hard. I was too proud to give the bouncer the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me so I just yelled obscenities at him until finally he got fed up and told me to “Get outta here punk. Go home.”

I caused quite a scene around the street, getting thrown out kicking and screaming. Ladies with their children whisked off promptly, telling their kids to “Ignore the drunk man.” A few brave people stopped to stare. To these people I gave a quick smirk and they either rolled their eyes or walked off, proud as peacocks.

I found some steps, in front of an apartment that I sat down on to rest. I felt so rotten and the alcohol had started to wear off.

I reached into my pocket for the cigarettes and pulled out an empty packet. I cursed out loud and threw the packet nowhere in particular.

Across the street I noticed the street lights were starting to turn off and the sun was beginning to show itself. It was almost dawn. Maybe I had overstayed my welcome at the bar more than I’d thought.

I realised I still had those matches I’d found and so started lighting them, just to watch the flame spawn, eat away at the wood and finally deteriorate as it reached the bottom and had no more fuel, nothing to leach off, at which time I would humbly place the match on the step beside me and watch it’s final embers.

The cars passing by were mesmerizing, especially to my blurred eyes which started to disagree with the rising sun. A cab passed, yellow and black fused in a flash followed by a grey smog trail that seemed to awaken my sense of smell. I coughed a little and rubbed my eyes.

Cars kept passing and I just sat there. Two women, proud as hell, with their designer jackets and phoney smiles walked by, gossiping and discussing the latest diets and hair colours, their hips swaying to an invisible rhythm. They gave me a foul look and kept walking.

“Hey, you got the time, man?”

I turned around to see a rough-looking guy, about mid-20’s, with a Hawaiian shirt, half tucked-in, looking at me in anticipation.

I paused for a minute, studying him. He had bags around his brown eyes and hair that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a decade.

“Time, man?” He persisted.

“Uh, yeah...” I said as I rolled back my sleeve to survey my watch. “6:40”.

“Ah, man, that’s pretty damn early.” He sighed “Got a light? I forgot my lighter.”

I checked and my matchbox and luckily I had two matches left. He raised a cigarette to his mouth and I scratched the match against the box only to feel it snap. I sighed and tossed it on the ground. I took the last match and proceeded to light the strangers cigarette. He took a puff and released a relaxed breath.

“You’re a lifesaver, bud” He smiled. “D’ya want one?”

“I’m all out of matches… thanks anyway”

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Definately more to come.