barfly tendenciesA Story by Philip Gaber“Ever read a guy named Bukowski?” he said,
stroking the scar on his thumb. “Charles Bukowski?” I said. He nodded. “Some.” He smiled.
Smirked, really. “He knew
something,” he said. Then looking away,
he muttered something under his breath. “What’s that?” Now his eyes were closed. “He knew about the logical progression of
human beings.” “Hmm?” “We progress from wearing our faces
frontwards, to eventually…” He paused
slightly. “Wearing them backwards.” He shrugged.
“The logical progression of human beings.” My instinct was to nod, but I figured it
would only encourage him, so I stifled the impulse by thinking about a girl I
used to know in Palo Alto, a certified financial planner, who kept trying to
convert me to Scientology. “Yep.
Bukowski knew a thing or two,” he said. His nods were hypnotic. Infectious.
Pretty soon I found myself nodding to the rhythm of his nod. “Ever think you’re misunderstood?” he
said. I had to think about that for a
minute. “No, not really…” “Hunh,”
he said, and ordered another vodka martini.
“Life’s such an aberration… when I was about twenty, twenty-five, I used
to go around tellin’ everybody I was misunderstood…didn’t matter who it
was…family, friends, strangers, Jehovah Witnesses…’course everybody’s
narcissistic and living in their heads a little too much at that age, but I was
a f*****g a*****e about it…I’d monopolize every conversation…I’d make damn sure
you were aware of what a complex guy I was, even though, you know, I was just
some f*****g a*****e spoiled b***h with chips ahoys on my shoulder who didn’t
know the difference between pissing and f*****g. It was all the same to me. Still is, to a point…but I’ve…hate this
word…evolved…hate that word…I’m too old to have evolved…or should I say too
insensitive…” He smirked. “But the s**t
of it all is, I got all kindsa p***y back then…and now?” He had a maniacal little smile. “Hardly get any at all…how does that
work?…Chrissakes, I haven’t lost all my looks yet. Still gotta little sex appeal buried
somewhere beneath this disheveled exterior…most a my hair’s gone, alright, so,
you know, a few wrinkles, but Jesus Christ, doth hair and a smooth face a man
make?” His voice was becoming hoarse. He
had to clear his throat several times.
He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of Camel studs, and
lit one. “Are you in love?” he said. I
shook my head. “Have you ever been in love?” I nodded. “Have you ever run from love?” I nodded. He snickered. “I do the run-from-love in like two point
five seconds…nobody can beat my time.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heals of his hands. “I get accused all the time of being too
melancholy and not ambitious enough…hellava combination, boy…one without the
other’s difficult enough, but you put ‘em both together? Forget about it…it’s a harsh reality, boy,
but a reality you gotta reconcile yourself to or else risk a lifetime of…” He stopped himself. “Never attempt to perpetrate on five vodka
martinis, it’s a no-win situation.” He
rubbed his neck and winced. “Funny, how
we keep going, though…and going and going and going…” He paused a moment to see if I still had a
pulse. “You’re not saying anything…you
okay?” “I’m fine.” “Don’t talk much, do ya?” I shook my head. He shrugged. “That’s cool…talking’s overrated, anyway…
problem with people is they got too many opinions… not enough sitting around
quietly meditating, watching their breath…so many contradictions, so little
equilibrium…that’s man right there in a nutshell for ya.” That’s when the bartender approached
him. “Call for ya.” “Who is it?” “Some broad.” “‘Scuse me, kid,” he said, getting up from
his stool. “The triangle awaits.” He limped toward a side door that said
“Private” and disappeared behind it. I signaled the bartender for the tab. © 2024 Philip GaberReviews
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1 Review Added on August 8, 2024 Last Updated on August 8, 2024 AuthorPhilip GaberCharlotte, NCAboutI hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..Writing
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