Bohemian Odyssey ch3: The ole Dive

My throat was starting get seriously dry. it wasn't so much that I was thirsty, as it was my need to drink something. Anything. So long as it was wet. Hunter called this "The Curse", like we two were lycanthropes screaming at the moon in hunger. So it was almost a miracle when He led me to a shabby house on the corner of Miss Street and 13th.
The neon lights in the window advertising the promise of spirits like an oasis in our own personal wasteland. I knew immediately this was the bar where The Man Waits for our apparent tutelage. The door's own personal Cerberus was a short stocky puerto rican clad in a fake leather puffy jacket, there was a walrus printed on one of the legs of his pants. The smell of ether and menthol cigarettes almost made me sick all over the doorman. Hunter took his glasses off and dragged em to the top of his head while he sized up Cerberus with judgmental eyes.
"so what's the score here man? We're no oysters." He barked at the silent guard. It was then my place to keep my own dog in line as not to get ourselves jumped. This became a game, almost an art form with every comment he made I justified to the public. Though tired, I played along. I held my arm in front of Hunter and looked at Cerberus with kind eyes
"sorry mate. It's very rude of him," I said "to come and spoil the fun. We've came here to see The Man, he's been Waiting for us and I don't want to keep him from more important affairs."
He squinted with his red eyes right through Hunter, straight through into his soul with an expression of knowing. Dropped the urban mint from his lips to utter a strange invitation to abandon our hope and enter through a rotten door.
"Lloro para usted, puto"
My shoes were sticking to the floor with each step. Years of degenerates and drunks slinking into the darkness from an even darker environment. You could smell the lost ambition in the air, mixed with whiskey and nicotine. The place was lighted from an unknown source, low and seedy to accentuate the stress written on our faces. The bar top ran halfway through the place and hasn't been wiped down in a decade. Hunter guided me to it as I took catalog of the inhabitants of this sorrowed place.
Two pushers stood by an unused broken pool table, regalia reflecting the hustle they sold as a public service to help you forget yourself for just a few hours. The old black woman by the door chain smoked tobacco wrapped in dried salvia leaves, she had an aura of a Louisiana dark artist. There was a silent man dressed in what looked like his mother's old coctail dress, his makeshift breasts covered warm by a sweater 2 sizes too big for his lumbering body. Then there was the behemoth bartender that drug a club foot toward us. His eye was covered by an old medical eye patch, the "good" one seeped crust in both corners like pink eye. The Cyclops wore a tattered King Crimson T-shirt that hasn't been washed since the release of their 1970 debut album.
"what you fuggers need?" he asked with a choke from years of self deprecation. Hunter had his ticket, knew his kind.
"The only drink worth burning for. Don't jerk us around!"
The Cyclops dropped his shoulders like a hurt puppy and grabbed a bottle of Irish Whiskey. Poured us two rocks glasses to the brim. I then knew this man was simple and sad, nothing to be afraid of. From the back of the room we heard a deep raspy voice creaked in our direction.
"The drinks are on me Phem, tell them cats to come back here to get what they came for. I Wait no longer, lets get down to drinkin"

Stay Plugged in for the next Chapter!

For those who need to catch up
Chapter 1: Dream Quest of Raoul Duke

>Chapter 2: Don't sleep in the Subway

Mountains of Snow and Beads of Sweat

It snowed for the first time today in central Connecticut. I woke up today to see what my sister Stephannie(of the acclaimed band "Stephannie and the Doomsday Groomsmen") would call "A WINTER WONDERLAND!!!:)". Unfortunately I spent most of my life down south so the excitement of the world blanketed in white is not entirely shared.
I called my place of employment to see if they were staying open and needed my attendance, hoping they would in fact need me behind the bar. My manager answered the phone and for some reason it took me 4 times to explain who exactly I was. He then informed me that the restaurant would be closed and not to come in for my double at all today. I threw the phone across the room and started gathering warm clothing for the job I was then responsible for. I didn't go overboard like the little kid in a christmass story, just a few layers and some gloves.
I forced myself down the stairs and there was a small glimmer of hope that one of the 4 other people living within the building would have done at least a small walkway or around their cars. This would have made the job a little less frusterating. This wasn't the case, making me curse the heavens for ever allowing me to live in this wretched state.
As the driveway cleared my clothing became more wet and unbearable to wear, so with ever 50 shovels full I shed one piece of clothing. The cars were completely encased with a foot of snow and for some reason it was my job to clear them out even though non of them were mine. With Karma on my mind I almost started to enjoy my current enslavement with the snow and started to sing songs of my people to the rhythm of my work. Suddenly it was 2 hours later and I almost finished clearing the whole track, this was when my roommate came home and offered to help. I appreciate the gesture, but I think his arrival ruined my zen state and I was suddenly aware that I was shoveling snow with no gloves, hat, coat, or scarf. And God said, let there be nipples!
Next time I am going to make snowmen on each one of those bastards cars. I hate snow.