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it's cold again. i feel sleepy but restless. lemonade does not quench, neither does hot cider. the hardwood floors creak as i pace the living room of my apartment. i gaze through windows. christmas lights glisten on still damp streets. darkness, later and later. i refuse to sit still. wind causes the window to buckle momentarily, then silence. i dress casually with no particular purpose. i wear black shoes, black pants and a fifties button down i picked up recently. i gather my wallet and keys and head out the door.
the car takes me to the bar. there are no curves, only turns. it is light, not dark here. i feel on the outside looking in, yet pacified because help is on the way. a beer arrives. the glass feels solid and permanent. it foams and glistens. it's cloudy and perfect. it's cool, not cold and has a vague banana and graham cracker air about it. i sip and slurp and swim and order another and it's like clockwork. the bartender has rhythm, the brunette waitress has curves and there is no controversy. no one waits.
there is extra work to be done. she is young and slinks and glides. a girl with a tattoo steps to the bar. she smiles. she is thin, pale, dark hair. she says hey or hello or something and it is only a little extraordinary.
just hold on another second they are on there way. she bleeds. sing the ataris and wait for the ambulance. i can't stop it. can't do anything really. been hit by influenza and it's not just the flu. it attacks, your body defends. the virus lurks around the corner and waits for you to come home when it will cut into you deep with its talons. i can't move and they're here now and the car is long gone and they pick her up from the curb. she is limp and bloody and calm. expected them to wear white but they wear black.
they ask what happened. she has no answer. my heart pounds. the guy was doing 50. threw her a good ten feet, a symphony of crushing bones, maybe more. can't believe the guy didn't stop. the car? black and shiny and japanese and gone. the guy accelerated i think as they hoist her into the back of the ambulance. her hand hangs over the side limp and pale, but no more pale than normal.
i climb in. they don't try to stop me. they close the door. it's bright inside. i squint. a lot of metal and digital readings. they have tubes in her and have her bandaged and for a moment i almost think it didn't happen. disoriented, it feels like we move very fast. the siren deafens, the floor is cold. we turn hard left and just as quickly it is all over. they pop open doors and i am first out. fresh night air. i stagger inside and it is equally bright here. they push her through 2 sets of doors and she's gone.
i talk to the bartender and we talk about the replacements and he is in a band and they have a release party at some other bar tomorrow night and the cover is five bucks. i light another smoke and i've smoked too much already tonight and my phone says it's early but it's easy to lie when you're a phone.
chase talks about drivin' and cryin' but a waitress who is both pale and dark and wears her curves like fruit fresh from the vine distracts me. chase is loud and eccentric and doesn't give a fuck. i order another beer and it is liberating and everything becomes quieter, less distinct and i become louder, fuller. i try to make a point and chase talks about going to film school and i tell him i think that's cool and for once i'm being sincere. saddham is captured and it is the best news since they convicted 3 people for genocide in rwanda.
i try to walk away and leave but i can't and i continue to talk. this is not normal. there is something awry and i can't put my finger on it and i do the only thing i know to do in this situation. i order another beer. jane's addiction comes on and it is not loud enough and people ignore it. i remember when snow and i listened to jane's addiction and jesus and mary chain back in the 80's in the basement and i would get high and we'd stay up all night and drink coffee and paint and sleep the next day and then go get pizza from the greek place. i watch as the waitress swooshes by. her aura is warm and i want to say something but nothing comes and she is gone in a tartan brunette pink blur.
i think for a moment about getting a dog when i get my house and i wonder if interpol is coming in town and i think about the girl at work and wonder if she likes me. chase is talking about work and i'm tuning it out and i tell him about going to see matchbox romance last weekend and he says i should have called him and i'm glad i didn't. i need to go. i look for the brunette waitress on my way out. she is nowhere. i drive home and 2 djs are on the radio. they say if you have any requests like, you know, pick up your dry cleaning they will give out their home numbers in a little while.
i run from the building where i work and i am not chased and yet i flee daily like there's anthrax in the ventilation shaft and i breath fine albeit deeply and my skin is clear. maybe i'm a little short of breath, it's probably too many cigarettes late night. there are two girls that i work with and they give me a hard time about my car and want me to turn up the stereo because they think it'll be loud, and it's probably set to npr since the college station was playing crap when i went to lunch and the oldies station was playing sixties and i'm really more into the doo wop thing. i laugh and blow it off and blow them off and one's pregnant and she's nice and always complaining in a good natured way.
i go to the grocery store to pick up food and i walk in and a beautiful tall girl with no tan and jet black short hair and a venom piercing in her lip works here. we exchange glances. she has dark glossy eyes that i want to dive into and they're like the undertow that pulls you under and you have to swim parallel to the shore to break away.
i go to look for organic produce because i don't like chemicals tearing up my blood cells and mutating them and destroying cell walls and i pick up some mushrooms and they look nice and then i go get goat feta. i have the postal service running through my head and i want to sing as i peruse canned vegetables, but i don't. i pick up a can of garbanzoes and deposit it into my basket. i look forward to spring and renewal and fresh basil with a smell to take your breath away and after that a tomato worth driving across town for.
i get in line and i see that coldplay got the band of the year according to spin magazine and for once they got it right. the cashier is cute in a girl next door type of way but more so and she is trying to shake a cold she says. she asks me paper or plastic and i tell her plastic i guess and it works and she packs it all in and i thank her and i'm on my way.
when the front doors part, a blast of cold hits me and it leaves my face frosty, my skin thin and more in touch with my skull than i can remember and the girl with jet black hair stands there. she must wait for someone i think because she is not smoking and no one in their right mind would just stand out here. i walk past and flip up my hood and get my bags into the car. i pull out and she still stands there and i try not to stare, but her eyes draw in the light and reflect it back at me and for a minute i am almost warm and i turn to look in my rear view as i pull away and she walks back inside.
i exit the building and the wind punches like metal rivets into my bones. i walk to my car at a decent clip and make the drive home from what has been the longest day ever. halos surround yellow streetlights as i merge onto the freeway. circle jerks on the radio. anger and conviction. drive. traffic. exit. park. get mail. don't want to log hours in the kitchen. i put together a moroccan garbanzo salad. i drink a glass of wine, warmth washes over me. my blood pressure drops, slowly. it engages briefly, then claustrophobia sets in.
i make the drive downtown. a girl is sad. she lost the baby. i think about it and turn up the radio. life is longer, slower, faster, spinning, chaotic. i pull in the lot and park. i sit with the engine idling and listen to the oldies station. i am not sure what the song is but i like it. simplicity. the song ends and i get out and walk inside. a good crowd. not the very best, but it will do.
there is a waitress in a gray hoody and a plaid tartan skirt and she has short dark hair and chiseled cheekbones and brown eyes. i am sucked in, my pupils dialate. my mouth waters momentarily and then becomes very dry. the bartender places a pint in front of me and it foams and glistens and i stare into it for a moment and it stares back and my pupils constrict and i drink. there are a couple of guys next to me and i start to talk and ask for a cigarette. one is a nice enough guy working as a barista at a coffee house on the east side. his friend has a phd and is an elitist. i am sitting next to him. i make the mistake of telling him something he says is interesting when it isn't. his ego foams and the head grows and grows. i am tempted to put my cigarette out in it but i snap back to follow a plaid skirt and smile and order another beer.
i catch the reflection of the waitress in the beer cooler as she walks by and it gleams in between the wall of taps that produce the beer that go into my glass. it becomes a game. i ask the elistist for another cigarette. the football game is on and we are losing and i am not really disappointed and this surprises me but only briefly. the guys next to me leave and the guy who is not an elitist tells me to come to the coffee shop and he'll hook me up with a mocha and i say cool and order another beer. a girl with a tattoo on her back and her friend come up to the bar and my equilibrium is off and not just physically and this odd combination of wine and beer and oh shit i have to work in the morning and i talked to someone from work sometime and i come home and almost laugh out loud and then fall into blissful sleep.
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