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rainbowfic2015-08-16 11:33 pm
starphotographs) wrote in rainbowfic2015-08-16 11:33 pm
Alien Green 6
Name: starphotographs
Story: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Lilith Fair Main Stage: http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Traveling-Again-lyrics-Dar-Williams/76B291E0118B2D7C4825697B0031DF45)
Characters: Spenser (POV), a stranger
Colors: Alien Green 6 (This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass.)
Word Count: 1,052
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Spenser plays designated driver.
Note: …I don’t even know. XD
Self-Designated
I should probably stop going to the kind of bar where they don’t throw you out for walking in covered in blood. But, sometimes, I just got done with work for the day, and I’m covered in blood, and I want a fucking beer. So those places are there for me when I need them. The one downside is…
…Well, I’m not really sure. Maybe the downside is the lingering sense that a downside is about to make itself known. I was going to say, “they’re full of fuckin’ weirdos,” but that’s just entertaining. Right now, I’m listening to a guy talking about how he used to be a dealer at a casino, but he got fired for stealing playing cards. Why playing cards and not anything of actual value? Because he’s a kleptomaniac. He also once stole a giant plaster-and-chicken-wire hamburger from in front of one of the locations of a struggling burger chain. Apparently, he still keeps it on his roof. You’d think he’d get caught that way, but I guess no one cares. Neither do they care about their kids’ tricycles. This guy has five. I’m not sure why, but I always thought kleptomania played out differently. This sounded to me like some other kind of problem, but I can’t call it. The conversation, at least, was interesting. So interesting that I stuck around even after I ran clear out of spare cash. I’d stopped buying beer, and hadn’t been drunk in about an hour.
Klepto, on the other hand, had been buying beers this whole time, and was now absolutely goddamn blotto. His stories were getting harder and harder to understand, but I was still listening. And watching. Maybe I’d see him try to steal a beer, if I waited long enough.
And this is pretty bizarre, but that’s exactly what happened. Or what he wanted to happen, anyway. Klepto, drunk past the point of personal responsibility held his bottle under the tap, pulled the lever, and got foam everywhere. The bartender went ballistic. I was considering clearing the hell out of there, because I think he thought Klepto and I were friends, and thus equally to blame for the mess.
Bartender was ranting about calling a cab. Klepto was ranting about not being able to afford one. Sometimes, I just kind of say shit without thinking it through.
“Jesus fuck, both of you relax! I’ll drive him.”
They gave me identical “who the hell even is this guy” looks. So, I guess Bartender didn’t think we were friends. Klepto didn’t think so, either. Considering this was, you know, the truth, I didn’t mind. Bartender shrugged.
“However he gets out of here is fine. Just don’t let him come back.”
I grabbed Klepto by the collar of his jean jacket, marched us both to the door, and gave Bartender a parting wave.
“…Not my jurisdiction, dude!”
*****
“What’s this?”
Klepto had been going through my glove box, apparently, and found the bent-nail puzzle that I take apart and put back together when I’m stuck in traffic and going out of my mind with boredom.
“…I don’t care. You can’t steal it.”
He looked crestfallen, and sat it in a cupholder. It rattled.
“Thanks for the ride, man.”
“Yeah, it’s really no problem. I just like drivin’, right?”
Klepto thought about this for a few seconds.
“…I don’t like driving.”
Well, what the heck do I care?
“That’s you, guy.”
He nodded, then stared straight ahead.
“Um, mister… I think I’m gonna throw up.”
What the hell kind of adult calls someone “mister?” Groaning, I pressed the switch, and opened the passenger-side window. I might as well have used my time and energy elsewhere, because, while Klepto did try to aim for the window, he ended up yarfing in his lap, anyway. I handed him some dilapidated fast-food napkins that had been plastered to the floor by the pedals for months.
“Here. Now don’t fuckin’ do that again.”
*****
About half an hour in, I’d gotten the idea that this was a mistake. Everything smelled like beer sweat and onion ring vomit. I’d probably get home and find about fifty things missing from my car. Klepto had perked up considerably, and was telling rambling stories again, only occasionally remembering that he was supposed to be giving me directions.
“So like, my brother-in-law, he collects these lawn jockeys, and he spraypaints them different bright colors and sticks googly eyes on ‘em. And he has the things all over his yard. Even peeking out from behind bushes and shit, so one day, I was just… So yeah. Would he miss, like, one lawn jockey? So I excused myself from the table, to, like, get myself something from the car, but really I was goin’ to the sideyard to get somethin’ to put in the car… Long story-short, that’s how my wife ended up divorcing me… And I know what you’re thinkin’, why am I callin’ that guy my brother-in-law if we’re divorced, but we actually got remarried. Like, when I brought the lawn jockey back. Now, it wasn’t instant reconciliation, what happened was-”
I wasn’t sure if I could take any more of this crap, so I slammed on my breaks, right there in the middle of the street.
“…Are we within walking distance of your house, at all!?”
“What? Oh…” Klepto looked around for a while. “…I think so!”
Smiling, I got out of the car, and opened the door for him.
“Then start walking.”
This was probably kind of a dick move, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, and hopped right out. A car behind us honked.
“Okay… Thanks again for the ride, dude.”
I waved.
“It’s been fun!”
Really, I wasn’t even lying. I was just a little funned-out for the night, I guess. Klepto ambled off for parts unknown. The car honked again. I flipped them the bird, then squealed my tires and sped off.
Halfway home, there were two terrible realizations:
The pizza coupons I had shoved in the console, and the three rocks that lived on my dashboard, were nowhere to be found.
I missed out on seeing a house with a giant hamburger on the roof because I couldn’t hear another word about that googly-eyed lawn jockey.
Such is life, I guess.
starphotographsStory: Corwin and Friends
Supplies and Styles: Graffiti (Summer Carnival, Lilith Fair Main Stage: http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Traveling-Again-lyrics-Dar-Williams/76B291E0118B2D7C4825697B0031DF45)
Characters: Spenser (POV), a stranger
Colors: Alien Green 6 (This is where you pucker up and kiss my ass.)
Word Count: 1,052
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Choose not to warn.
Summary: Spenser plays designated driver.
Note: …I don’t even know. XD
I should probably stop going to the kind of bar where they don’t throw you out for walking in covered in blood. But, sometimes, I just got done with work for the day, and I’m covered in blood, and I want a fucking beer. So those places are there for me when I need them. The one downside is…
…Well, I’m not really sure. Maybe the downside is the lingering sense that a downside is about to make itself known. I was going to say, “they’re full of fuckin’ weirdos,” but that’s just entertaining. Right now, I’m listening to a guy talking about how he used to be a dealer at a casino, but he got fired for stealing playing cards. Why playing cards and not anything of actual value? Because he’s a kleptomaniac. He also once stole a giant plaster-and-chicken-wire hamburger from in front of one of the locations of a struggling burger chain. Apparently, he still keeps it on his roof. You’d think he’d get caught that way, but I guess no one cares. Neither do they care about their kids’ tricycles. This guy has five. I’m not sure why, but I always thought kleptomania played out differently. This sounded to me like some other kind of problem, but I can’t call it. The conversation, at least, was interesting. So interesting that I stuck around even after I ran clear out of spare cash. I’d stopped buying beer, and hadn’t been drunk in about an hour.
Klepto, on the other hand, had been buying beers this whole time, and was now absolutely goddamn blotto. His stories were getting harder and harder to understand, but I was still listening. And watching. Maybe I’d see him try to steal a beer, if I waited long enough.
And this is pretty bizarre, but that’s exactly what happened. Or what he wanted to happen, anyway. Klepto, drunk past the point of personal responsibility held his bottle under the tap, pulled the lever, and got foam everywhere. The bartender went ballistic. I was considering clearing the hell out of there, because I think he thought Klepto and I were friends, and thus equally to blame for the mess.
Bartender was ranting about calling a cab. Klepto was ranting about not being able to afford one. Sometimes, I just kind of say shit without thinking it through.
“Jesus fuck, both of you relax! I’ll drive him.”
They gave me identical “who the hell even is this guy” looks. So, I guess Bartender didn’t think we were friends. Klepto didn’t think so, either. Considering this was, you know, the truth, I didn’t mind. Bartender shrugged.
“However he gets out of here is fine. Just don’t let him come back.”
I grabbed Klepto by the collar of his jean jacket, marched us both to the door, and gave Bartender a parting wave.
“…Not my jurisdiction, dude!”
“What’s this?”
Klepto had been going through my glove box, apparently, and found the bent-nail puzzle that I take apart and put back together when I’m stuck in traffic and going out of my mind with boredom.
“…I don’t care. You can’t steal it.”
He looked crestfallen, and sat it in a cupholder. It rattled.
“Thanks for the ride, man.”
“Yeah, it’s really no problem. I just like drivin’, right?”
Klepto thought about this for a few seconds.
“…I don’t like driving.”
Well, what the heck do I care?
“That’s you, guy.”
He nodded, then stared straight ahead.
“Um, mister… I think I’m gonna throw up.”
What the hell kind of adult calls someone “mister?” Groaning, I pressed the switch, and opened the passenger-side window. I might as well have used my time and energy elsewhere, because, while Klepto did try to aim for the window, he ended up yarfing in his lap, anyway. I handed him some dilapidated fast-food napkins that had been plastered to the floor by the pedals for months.
“Here. Now don’t fuckin’ do that again.”
About half an hour in, I’d gotten the idea that this was a mistake. Everything smelled like beer sweat and onion ring vomit. I’d probably get home and find about fifty things missing from my car. Klepto had perked up considerably, and was telling rambling stories again, only occasionally remembering that he was supposed to be giving me directions.
“So like, my brother-in-law, he collects these lawn jockeys, and he spraypaints them different bright colors and sticks googly eyes on ‘em. And he has the things all over his yard. Even peeking out from behind bushes and shit, so one day, I was just… So yeah. Would he miss, like, one lawn jockey? So I excused myself from the table, to, like, get myself something from the car, but really I was goin’ to the sideyard to get somethin’ to put in the car… Long story-short, that’s how my wife ended up divorcing me… And I know what you’re thinkin’, why am I callin’ that guy my brother-in-law if we’re divorced, but we actually got remarried. Like, when I brought the lawn jockey back. Now, it wasn’t instant reconciliation, what happened was-”
I wasn’t sure if I could take any more of this crap, so I slammed on my breaks, right there in the middle of the street.
“…Are we within walking distance of your house, at all!?”
“What? Oh…” Klepto looked around for a while. “…I think so!”
Smiling, I got out of the car, and opened the door for him.
“Then start walking.”
This was probably kind of a dick move, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, and hopped right out. A car behind us honked.
“Okay… Thanks again for the ride, dude.”
I waved.
“It’s been fun!”
Really, I wasn’t even lying. I was just a little funned-out for the night, I guess. Klepto ambled off for parts unknown. The car honked again. I flipped them the bird, then squealed my tires and sped off.
Halfway home, there were two terrible realizations:
The pizza coupons I had shoved in the console, and the three rocks that lived on my dashboard, were nowhere to be found.
I missed out on seeing a house with a giant hamburger on the roof because I couldn’t hear another word about that googly-eyed lawn jockey.
Such is life, I guess.
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