dankpelt said what

Reading this means you're at least smart enough to go down to Kentucky, show them fire, and be their god.

8.27.2006

A Departure - OR - This One's Kinda Depressing



Well, it's been way too long, and I'm out of practice. That statement is fun in the sense that it could likely apply to no less than two billion different things about me and my life - but it's mostly about writing. It's a little after 8am on a Sunday, and I have no idea why in the fuck I'm awake. I went out to Lansing's very own Sammy's Lounge last night for some drinks with friends... the cause for the drinkin' was the illustrious Grandpa Owen finally quitting his jobby job at teh Core, and to that I say "good show." Teh Core's about as cool as colon polyps, without the fun mascot.

Sammy's is always an interesting place for me to visit, likely because I can't help myself but think about Heather every time I go there. Looking around at the dumpy, sad patrons really brings back some memories for me. Makes it seem like yesterday I was waiting for Heather's shift to be over, nursing a gin and tonic and listening to a certified spinster-for-life hack her way through a Backstreet Boys tune on the Karaoke. At that time, Sammy's had THREE karaoke nights per week. Sadistic fucks. I would sit there and take in the show that was unwinding all around me as Heather went about her duties. Her job was mostly to get ogled by dudes who would be in trouble with their wives if they could hear the shitty, tired jokes their husbands were making about the waitstaff's t-shirts (emblazoned with the logo DO IT OUTDOORS! on the back, in honor of the spacious patio area Sammy's boasts, I think you can imagine where an unhappily married drunk shitbird would take that one), while serving them more pitchers of shitty pisswater beer that only made the comments, whistles, and propositions more audacious and insane. A vicious circle. Over here, a man sleeping on the bar. Over there, a couple arguing about who-cares-what. To your left you'll see the old guy who smells faintly of pee, he's lasciviously staring at anything with tits and a heartbeat, his yellowed teeth slightly exposed in what may be either a smile or a grimace. To your right, the Lansing Police officer looking for someone, probably on a domestic violence rap. It was a circus that I got to observe every night, waiting to walk her to my car and drive her home, away from that place; its stink of alcohol-fueled desparation and stale cigarette smoke dissipating out my car windows into the gentle summer night's air.

I still miss her sometimes, and it bothers me.

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