the life and times of


The sinking stools upon which we all sit 

The rain outside made the entire room seem as if it was sinking into an abyss. Maude, the bartender, poured me my 7th glass of whatever piss beer they were serving. She was short, attractive, with short cut black hair, thick framed glasses, and a cut-throat attitude that ensured her survival among the everlasting crowds of college kids harangling her for her phone number. Her white shirt, top three buttons unbuttoned, occasionally offered me a glance at her eggshell colored lace bra, which i imagined was a louis vitton bra, but then again, i was probably being too generous to a bartender's salary. It had been four months since I've felt the soft skin of a woman and I wondered what Maude's skin felt like. Or if Maude ever wondered what my skin felt like, although im positive she hasn't.

The thought subsided and I took another swig off my glass, downing it quickly, trying to avoid the sharp sting of the carbonation against my throat; but to every avail, it always stings. I guess that's true for most things in life. Just then, I could feel the famliar vibration of my cel phone, shivering in my jacket pocket; a text message from someone I don't know. This isn't the first time something like this has happened. Actually, it happens almost everyday, from the same number, an unknown person text messages me. I like to call and have temporarily named this unknown caller "Jerome" for the sake of order.

Jerome's message : "You aren't standing."

And Jerome's right, I'm not. What the message means, I am unaware of. Yesterday's message spoke of a pack of cigarettes Jerome wanted returned "right-the-fuck-now", but I have yet to meet Jerome or Jerome's pack of cigarettes.

In the stool to my left, a girl was sitting in the lap of another girl. They looked to be in their mid-twenties, both fairly attractive; athletic builds and short cropped hair.

"Who are you gonna vote for?" the red-head asked, looking down into the girl's eyes she was sitting on.
"Oh, i don't know. I havent even followed it much." She said, her arm wrapped around her girlfriend's waist.
"Me neither. I suppose I could ask my friends about it." the red head sighed and took another long drag off of her cigarette.
"I guess if it comes down to Bush or Kerry, I'll vote Kerry." She said right before she took a sip off of her mandarin cosmopolitan.
"Not much of a choice."

The hotness of my lips subsided into numbness now, nearing the end of my 7th drink. I wondered if I should stop here and call it a night, but instead I pushed the glass to the edge of the bar and waited for Maude's return. Like a fly to a flourescent bulb, she came back.

"Natty Light?" she asked. I nodded, watching her walk towards the taps, staring at the backs of her milky white calves. My phone started to vibrate again, this time it was a call.

"Yeah?" I said loudly.
"Sebastian..." the voice on the other end said sheepishly. It was a girl's voice, but none that I'd heard before.
"Who is this?"
There was a long pause.
"Do I know you?" I asked.
"No." she said, there was another pause and then she hung up.

"Who was that?" asked Maude, pushing a full glass towards me.
"I don't know. Some girl named Christina."
"Intresting." she said, but in a flat kind of way, which made me wonder if she hated her job. She turned around and left to go refill someone else.
I've got to stop coming here by myself.

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