« on: April 13, 2015, 01:26:12 pm »
Saturday night got weird. It was the gentle giant's turn to drive so I hopped into the passenger's seat and rambled my caffeine and booze fueled musings in between destinations. We ended up at some artist's space downtown where a self promoter type spent two hours badly sketching a Simpsons character in between banging rails and talking about Instagram. It wasn't a good time for me. I walked outside and just waited there, people watching the line to get into that faux Irish quasi club. No, the other faux Irish quasi club.
It was the first truly nice day of Spring. I had my light jacket on, the fly one, and leaned my teetering ass over a parking meter waiting for the giant with my hands in my pockets. There was a book of matches in there still and it had to be from a cigar kind of night and fuck could I have gone for a cigar, I thought, turning the matches around and around.
It felt like there was something behind them so I dug. They aren't big pockets on the jacket so there's not much room to hide but I couldn't get a grasp of whatever it was. I was up to my wrist in a pocket that only barely covered my knuckles and then I was up to my forearm in it. Whatever I had was slippery, I think. The college girls over in the line stopped laughing and just watched, horrified.
"Don't worry ladies I'm not playing pocket pool," I said. But what came out was actually, "AAAAIIIAAAEIEEIIEEEEE!"
The thing in my pocket was bigger than my fist and it was warm and it was stuck on something else, but I think I had it.
"HahasomethingcaughtinmythroatIthinkwhatbringsyouo uttonightisitsomebody'sbirthday," I tried. "SCCRREEEEEEEEEEEEE SCREEEEEEEEEE!" I said.
I was elbow deep in the pocket and I had the wet cords that held onto the thing I was grabbing and I was tearing them with my fingernails but they were pretty tough. There was more in there, more things all attached together and moving about but I'd already made my choice. I had it. I was so close.
"Hey it looks like your line is moving you should probably make your way to the door," I was starting to get anxious with all the attention. "GGRRAAAAEEEAAEEAKAARRAAKAAAA."
Fuck the cord things I couldn't break them but I bet I could grab the object and just rip it out. Death grip, angry death grip, and a pull and a tear. I held it above my head in triumph and this time the guttural scream was intentional and I wondered if it came out as a sentence, somehow. The jacket sleeve was coated with something dark and thick. My hand was deep red in the streetlights and the liver it was holding looked, admittedly, a little worse for wear.
The gentle giant had come downstairs at some point during all of this. He looked at me, then up at the liver I was still holding high.
"What's going on, man," he said.
"Nothing. I was just looking for my lighter." I put my liver back in my pocket. It only half fit and its crimson end hung out the side. "Ready to go to the Taproom?"