Saturday, October 10, 2009

Early Friday Evening

The sky is bruised as if somebody had threatened it with terrible violence and then made good on his promise. Now badly beaten and broken-hearted, it’s about to weep. The air is cool. It smells like fall and somebody grilling hot dogs. It’s magnificent. “Brick by Brick” is throbbing through my car stereo. “We’re the undefeated. Always undefeated...” Window all the way down. Driving past a gas station, I can see a girl walking through the parking lot slowly, like she’s got nowhere better to be than in front of this gas station. Her hands are in the back pockets of her jeans, and her elbows are splayed out wide. Her hips and ass are almost perfectly spherical, and moving smoothly, like she’s dancing. I begin to think about how I wish my hands were in the back pockets of her jeans. Now it smells like fall, hot dogs, and gasoline. Life doesn’t get any better than this. Further down the road, there’s a man in a wheelchair crossing an ugly intersection. His legs are very small and atrophied. He’s wearing a tank top, and his arms are lean and muscular like Bruce Lee's. He looks to be about 50. Mustache and a balding mullet, his head gently convulses with each violent thrust of his arms. His chair jerks across this intersection. He stops at the grassy island in the center, changes directions, and begins his way across the ramp and onto the sidewalk which goes across the McKees Rocks bridge. It’s a long fucking bridge, and he’s a better man than me. His heart is stronger than my legs. It’s amateur night at Silky’s. Same price to get in as any other night, but inexperienced girls on the stage, instead of the usual trained professionals. They have shitty all-you-can-drink beer on tap. The leaves are starting to turn, and I’m thinking about growing a beard.

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