Her.

The first time I saw her she was walking into the bar. I don't normally go into bars alone. I'm not the most outgoing guy and I don't drink; so bars aren't my thing. She was though. So I went in.

Beer and smoke choked the walkway into the cramped dive. Dim lights hid most people in shadows. Guess it made them easier on the eye. Booze would have helped more though. Low class barflies are not my thing. But she wasn't a low class barfly. She was my thing. Dollar long knecks. Dropped a buck on the counter and took a beer. I never even saw the bartender. Could have been the devil himself, wouldn't have noticed. She wore a strapless black dress that rested just at the curve of her cleavage. Only a clingy grey top held her modesty. She pulled at the wrist cuff of her sleaves, a silver watch worn over it. Tapping the watch face with a well-chewed gray-painted nail, She looked lonely. The devil handed me another beer.

Beer tastes bad. Two down and didn't sense a drop, she didn't pour it for me. I didn't want any of the barflies to realize that I didn't belong. I couldn't leave until she did. She could be my perfect moment. Tapped the bar, with a grunt the devil dropped number three in front of me.

I needed to say something. Something witty. Something special. Something we could tell our children when they were old enough. She didn't notice me at the bar. She was looking past me at the door. She had green eyes. Twin emeralds set against a complexion like porcelain. I needed to feed an ache deep within me. She was perfect. A venus inspired by the hint of goth.

I stood up. Then fell back onto the stool. How could I talk to her. Any other girl would have been nothing for me now, an off quip and awkward joke followed by an offer for a drink on me. But her. I needed more. Another beer. Time to think. Sweeping the coal bangs back from her eyes, she glanced towards the door again. My direction. My moment was coming. I felt it beginning to spark. I could have her. Any other time she would be out of my league. But not tonight. The gods had smiled and gave me this one perfect moment.

She glanced again. At me. There was a smile. Or at least a shadow of one playing on her tensed lips. She was nervous too. Words danced about in my head, a thousand lines licked apart and tossed into the ether, none good enough for my moment. One was being built now a word at a time. It was perfect. Almost. Needed that special something else. The devil said, "Another?"

"Sure." I was searing poetry across my psyche the numb would would lessen the scorch marks later. The devil tossed me another one.

I snatched it before the bottle settled, it was about time. She gave me that shadowed smile again, and a giggle. She looked like she was relaxing a little. She had quit glancing at her watch and the door. Now she was noticing me.

Her and the devil and my cold beer. There was no one else in the bar now. Not that was real to me. So when the door opened and the suit walked in, I wasn't ready for it. He brushed past me, almost noticing, but I wasn't on his frequency.

He was tuned like me. Only him, her and the devil. He didn't even have a beer. But he did have my future moment. He was stealing it. I was letting him. Why?

The numb delayed my reaction. When the suit grabbed her arm I didn't react at first. She was beginning to sob. She looked right at me. I could tell she wanted to know why. Why didn't I do something. The devil grabbed another long neck. I quietly said, "No." He shook his had and dropped it back into the ice bin.

I stood for a second time, the suit had already dragged her through the rear door. The pool tables were through that door. I walked with purpose, if not balance towards that door. She had wanted me. She was my moment.

Halfway to the door the devil repeated me word, "No."

I looked towards him, wtf?

"Had your chance man. You hid in a bottle. Now she's his. You know that," then with a snort that cost him all my future repeat business he added, "you had better of fucking known it."

He was an asshole. Not the devil. That much had become certain again to me. He was also right. I had my moment. Did what I always did, waited too long so that it would leave me all alone again. She was with him. She was his.

This wasn't where I belonged. These faceless barflies judged me unworthy. I was out of place. I went in search of home. It was quiet there.

I liked the silence. She had known that, deep down, she had to have seen that in me.

That I always chose the silence.

My moment was to watch the moments, not take them.

I do like the silence.
I do.

My People.

I know some strange people. Very strange people. Don't know why I am writing about these people tonight when I need to be going to bed. But well, my thoughts are on all them tonight so I figured I will inflict them on you tonight. Maybe once I have vented them I can catch a few winks. If not, then fuck'em.

First there's Smith. He is a harsh bastard but you will always know what's really on his mind. But that's why people like him - its a no bullshit zone. Of course she will cut you to, she likes knives and the color deep red, sometimes if there is enough of it she giggles. He's also a coward that likes to play with matches and an asshole with a guns fetish. His friends can count on him, but it scares people when they think he might be trustworthy.

Next comes Patches. Patches likes to be other people. Peelinga away little pieces of them and dressing up his mug like a ragdoll in tatters. but while he likes to be people, he loves to hurt'em more. Its a toss-up what really gets his rocks off. He leeches the life right out of you, then when you feel like there's only a husk left, when your soul has been pulled right to the edge of hell, he kicks you over it like a whipped dog. Probably gives the little kids nightmares in their beds just for a quick thrill.

There's always The Doc. The most self-involved jack-ass a bastard could ever stumble across. He loves booze more than any thing has a right to. Worked a good job for a good boss, made enough doe to choke a horse, then pissed it all away on whores and heroine. At least that's what people claimed were his real addictions. Well the addictions you could mention in polite company. No one liked to talk about the puppies and kittens. Or the lonely little girl he showed them to one night. Just not something they talk about anyore.

Not everyone is complete scum. The Fatman is good people. And he knows good people. Can't run worth shit, but he once jumped a truck in a single leap and shattered the pavement when he landed. Shattered the spine of Old Willy too, caught him under the right heel. That's why Willy wants the Fatman. Also why Willy's not done anything about it yet. Afterall, no body takes a swing at the Fatman, not with Little Edna around. They say every Christmas the Fatman fixes up a pile of cookies and leaves them for the Barrow Street Orphans.

There are more. Always more. Black Jake, Iron Mike, Injun Jane, the Russo sisters - those bitches will love you to death and eat your heart out. But I am feeling a little more sleepy now.

Guess I just had to get them out the door for a few hours.

They might be assholes. They might not make for the best parties. But damnit, they were mine once. And they made me smile.

Big News Days Tend to Suck

Feel good get better programs typically have 12 steps. Drugs. Alcohol. Food. Sex. All have the much touted 12 step program to make you all better and happy. Or they go on forever and ever. And lets face it, they fail far more than they work.

Seems that the bad crap in life doesn't need 12 steps. Nope. The Big-C for example it has zero steps. It has what's called stages. And there are only four of those. Damn that's efficient. And it has a far better successful completion rate than the feelgood bullshit. Of course that's not so good for those who get on that particular program.

My mom has arthritis of the spine, has gone into congestive heart failure many times, needed a pacemaker put in do to an irregular and often failing heartbeat. Still she endures the pain and struggles to improve. She's even planning an operation to help with her back. Well she was.

Seems that God isn't through fucking with her just yet. Cause she's at step 2, sorry mean second stage of the big-C. So that's gonna take precidence. Will probably be in for surgery within a month or so to get it taken care of. That was the phonecall that greeted me yesterday when I came home.

Like I said, Big News days tend to suck. Its never we won the lotto. Its name the lethal illness of the week. But we will wait, hope, spend some time with her, and if all goes well then she can drop off the big-C's stepladder before she hits number 4. Cause then your just waiting for the going through the pockets stage. And that does suck.

So, that's what's up with me for today. Later.