age: 24 (Oct 15, 1984)
MEMBER SINCE: September 2007
occupation: Server/Student
crush: not telling
heroes: uncle jesse
i lost my virginity: yup!
stats: skinny
makes me happy: jack daniels
gets me hot: sun
sign: Libra
makes me sad: spilled alcohol
into: music, piercings, tattoos, alcohol, snowboarding, skating, movies.
body mods: lots
Written at 4 A.M in an empty bar…
….This cold dark slab of mahogany, weathered by the years and the numerous drinks held upon it's support, takes on an entirely different entity as I sit perched on it's bar stool companion. The cracks in the wood sprout from it's weak spots. The crevices jut and careen in to each other as if the vesicles of this bar have become incredibly evident like a heroine junkie. The blood source it's pumping is the same smell that stains the air, old vermouth and stale liquor from years of spills. It's that smell you get around 3 at any bar after everyone has left, their scent leaves with them and the bars true identity is left. But that's not all that is left.
Memories of the bar's years of service still echo in the air. I hear the clinking of glasses held by two sharply dressed business men. I hear the bad pick up lines being vomited from some poor saps mouth on to a surprisingly somewhat interested woman. These echoes these ghosts are still here and have their stories to tell, and I become extremely interested in to what each has to say.
I walk behind the bar to get more of an understanding of these apparitions. I walk to the bottle scotch the business man have made friends with and hold it up. Through the foggy distorted glass, light bends and their image blurs. I see one of the men hunched over at a bus stop, disheveled and obviously distraught, a very different image from the one i see as i lower the bottle for a second glance. The gentleman sits at the bus stop waiting to board his mobile coffin to take him away to a job he despises in an office he's learned to loathe. His image fades and the other man can be seen leaving a young woman's house. He turns back on his cell phone and finds a voice mail from his wife, and his temporary escape ends. A dead end marriage and a cold hard couch await him when he returns to his jail cell. I put the bottle back down and see the two gentleman seemingly content with life...
….This cold dark slab of mahogany, weathered by the years and the numerous drinks held upon it's support, takes on an entirely different entity as I sit perched on it's bar stool companion. The cracks in the wood sprout from it's weak spots. The crevices jut and careen in to each other as if the vesicles of this bar have become incredibly evident like a heroine junkie. The blood source it's pumping is the same smell that stains the air, old vermouth and stale liquor from years of spills. It's that smell you get around 3 at any bar after everyone has left, their scent leaves with them and the bars true identity is left. But that's not all that is left.
Memories of the bar's years of service still echo in the air. I hear the clinking of glasses held by two sharply dressed business men. I hear the bad pick up lines being vomited from some poor saps mouth on to a surprisingly somewhat interested woman. These echoes these ghosts are still here and have their stories to tell, and I become extremely interested in to what each has to say.
I walk behind the bar to get more of an understanding of these apparitions. I walk to the bottle scotch the business man have made friends with and hold it up. Through the foggy distorted glass, light bends and their image blurs. I see one of the men hunched over at a bus stop, disheveled and obviously distraught, a very different image from the one i see as i lower the bottle for a second glance. The gentleman sits at the bus stop waiting to board his mobile coffin to take him away to a job he despises in an office he's learned to loathe. His image fades and the other man can be seen leaving a young woman's house. He turns back on his cell phone and finds a voice mail from his wife, and his temporary escape ends. A dead end marriage and a cold hard couch await him when he returns to his jail cell. I put the bottle back down and see the two gentleman seemingly content with life...
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Sleazy