You shouldn't live with hate in your heart but...

There this balance I maintain and mostly on a personal level I'll go alone to get alone mostly because I'm not all that particular but when I think something is being forced upon me then that is when I start to show my fangs.

I've been told more than once that I like everyone. That statement is untrue. I try to tolerate everyone but when I can't, then one more name is added to my hate list and my hate list carries a lot of street cred.

Most don't know Amy's name but she the one that does the Bud promotions

So, the guy next to me ordered three shots of Patron Silver and the bartender asked who they were for and the guy said "Me, him and my friend," as he pointed to me with his thumb.

The guy was a regular but a new regular, I moved a seat down so that he could sit with his other regular friend. I good like that.

Later the guy on my other side bought me a pint. Folks love me. "Just so you know he's not gay," the bartender said as she placed the beer in front of me. I said "Thanks for noticing," because I have no problem with gay folks but for just a buck fifty draft, I still think women are prettier.

I was sipping my pint when she rested her arms on the bar and asked "Where were you Tuesday?" I answered with a half truth and a half lie, "I must have been busy or I thought you didn't have any day shifts." She let me off the hook. When I told her I had to go she asked who started my tab; I told her and said "She usually rings me under number five." Her eyes widened with surprise as she asked me how I knew that, I merely said that I ask questions.


Twice today I had wished I had one of my cameras

I am a fight fan although I'm not a fan of fighting

I dropped my gaze to his jaw line; picking out the spot where I would like to crack him one. In my mind's eye the punch is always a short uppercut which snaps back the head and rattles the brain. They don't always get knocked out but they always go down.

My other favorite punch is a left hook right below the rib cage; a liver shot. Punching someone in the liver causes then to drop to their knees; the drop is always takes longer than you would think.

Too bad I don't actually go around punching people.

my questions are devious

So, I said that I had missed her Sunday. She asked who was working; I told her Nicky and trailed off because I didn't know the other waitress' name.

"The new Emily. Blonde?"

"Yes, because it wasn't neither Stephanie or Jackie."

"I like Emily."

"But you don't like the others?" I said with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, no, I like Nicky and Stephanie. There is someone I don't like working with."

"But they will remain nameless."

She nodded.

"Even though you just named all the other people you like."

three tops

I was in the top three of "many, many" applications, "A surprising amount of applications."

He said he liked my writing.

Business letters, if you were wondering.

I still keep most of my other writing secret.


I think it's time for a change.


I'm tired.


I'm sore.

not as in "I'm sore at you." But then you probably know that because I'm not a hillbilly.


I'm hungry too.

not as in "He was hungry for peace." I want something like a cheeseburger. Although, peace would be nice too.

She said "Look what happened," as she pulled on the straps to her top, a little down and apart which revealed more than just the slight sunburn she had.

I never know if they do those things just to give me a hard time or that they are just comfortable enough around me not to worry about flashing a little skin. Either way, I usually play it cool.

However, my reply was a little delayed as I was calculating the extents of her tan line.

Shhh...

Some people just need to talk and then they end up talking too much. I'm not afraid of quietness. It's okay to be still.


She lit up as she called my name. She was sneaking a bit of lunch to the left of the taps where it's hard for the patrons to see her. I ignored all the glances in my direction as I headed towards a seat near Tony and Dennis.

She was still beaming as she came over and told me that she was glad that I was there. She informed me that she would be in need of some espresso which meant coffee based drinks were in both of our futures.

Another regular joined us later and we started buying rounds for each other. I know Tony doesn't like it when you buy him a round. He doesn't like it because "Then you feel obligated to buy a around and then you end up drinking more than you want. You should just buy your own beer." I agree with Tony and there are times I won't reciprocate that day.

When I went to get the espresso, the new arrival left, and Tony followed after which just left me with Dennis. My escape came when another regular came in with a friend. I relocated so that they could sit together. Dennis left after he finished his beer.

Emily stood in front of me and smiled as I rolled my eyes as he left.

"I try not to sit next to him. He's not a bad guy. He just never shuts up. And he tells you all his worldly wisdom."

"Only he has none."

I smiled as I said "Exactly."

he's a poor witness

He's not a liar but his stories can't be trusted. I don't know what the opposite of wearing rose colored glasses is but I'm certain he does it.


It's seasonal where my choicest seat is, if the heat or A/C isn't running then it's chair number two, otherwise it number one then followed by number three. The worst is in the corner followed by the one next to that. I end up in the seats I don't like too often.

But the thing about the seats I don't like is that you get a top to bottom view of the barkeeps when they're pouring drafts that you don't get from any other seat. I don't go there to ogle so those seats still suck but I do notice things. And I was noticing that her jeans weren't doing her ass justice when I a spilling beer caught my eye. It was a full pint. The bartenders have a bit of distain for those who spill their beers all over the bar.

I remember thinking "Her day just got worse." Things were moving in slow motion just like in any accident that you see coming. I noticed that the beer wasn't just going to soak the bar and run off into the ice chest, it was traveling faster than that.

Emily was pouring a draft from the first of seven taps but even that wasn't far enough away. It caught her right above her waist line, soaked the right side of her ass and down to her shoe.

Her shift wouldn't end for another twelve hours. I was running through all the places in the area that sold women's jeans on a Sunday afternoon and could name three. I then thought about what size she was, I guessed a two only because I don't like thinking about women being a size zero.

I didn't make any eye contact with her because I knew she was pissed and it took her a few minutes to calm down.

"And you know what? I brought an extra pair of jeans today because I knew something stupid was going to happen today."

"Yeah, and when he started talking to you I just wanted to tell him just to shut up, there was nothing he could say that would make it better but he just kept on talking."

That's one pissed off napper

I know...

I know you think that I have it easy. Like all I have to do all day is to sit at the bar sipping Margaritas and snap photos of the reflection of the neon light that reminds the locals that in 2004 the hometown team won it all.





But I do have some problems. Problems that are much like a 1/2 in. bolt sticking out of my tire.

you shove off

I blew off Sunday because I was spending quality time with Emily, so I showed up on Monday.

I continue to find it odd that when I'm there on a non-scheduled day that everyone wants to talk to me.

Dude, I'm not even supposed to be here. Please leave me alone.

She walked up the stairs to tell me that I had a phone call and mentioned a name that had a familiar ring to it but that I was certain I didn't know. I questioned that the caller asked for me. I was told he asked for the owner first and me second. I took the call. It was the son of some seventy-two year old guy biking across the country with the hopes of raising money for some well known kids' club.

I had done a post card a few days prior for the event and hadn't heard back from anyone so I forgot about it. He said that what I did was very good and that he had a printer that would print them for free but that he needed camera ready art for the front, which was done and the back, which was not.

"My father's looking for a designer".

"I do it mostly as a hobby," I said to deflect any job offers.

"Well, you're good at it."

"Thanks," I said and let it drop.

I'm okay with what I did but I'm not happy with it. I think it could be better. I think it's at 73 percent.

it's not about you

So, he starts telling me things about what he thinks should be out there so I asked him if what he is saying is what the petition that the neighborhood sent in said or if he's "making shit up?"

He got a little angry but he stuck his nose in somewhere it didn't need to be and I'm not pulling my punches.

quiet down up there

"Pick up your damn feet!"

I do a lot of yelling in my head. If you're doing something stupid and my eyes glaze over a bit: I'm yelling in my head and if you confront me with it, I'll just smile my mischievous grin.

But if I think you're alright with it, I'll actually tell you what I was think-yelling.

Hot wife

So, I was told that I seemed a little more cranky than usual. I told him to keep his retarded statements to himself or I would set his wife on fire.

I sometimes wonder how much folks think this is real. Can you tell the phony bits?

I think that I can be happy if I just change a couple of things but I make no effort to change those things.

minutia and madness

I never say a lot anywhere so I do a lot of listening and watching. We were sitting having coffee just like we always do. We catch each other up on what happened the days before and what is expected for the day.

I watched as he knocked over his cup. The cover stayed on as it hit the granite bench and started to roll. My thoughts ran through all that I would have done to save as much coffee as possible if I were in his position. He didn't do any of them.

As he tried to right the cup, he pushed it quicker to the edge, where it fell over. It hit the cobblestones without a bounce; the cover still on. He was still chasing after it with his clumsy hand.

"Don't squeeze it," was shouted inside my head right before he squeezed it and popped the cover off and the coffee gushed forth. I turned my head to hide my laughing but someone else just laughed out loud.

He was rather pissed at spilling his coffee, more so than the loss of a dollar sixty five.

"At least you didn't get any on," I said, and the guy who laughed said "Yeah, it could have been a lot worse."

"And you made his day," I said as I pointed to the guy who laughed.

He was still angry, as he tossed his empty cup into the flower bed behind him. He fished out later as we left.