Wednesday, 27 February 2013

Peepers telling porkies

I finished my joke about the cat that eats unborn babies and waited, patiently, for recognition of my ability to hold an audience.  It didn’t come.  Fucking hicks in this town.

I pushed my fringe out of my eyes and tried to focus on the girl behind the bar.  She was showing teeth, but I wasn’t sure what they meant.  I was mid swig when I saw you.  I almost choked, and then spat a gobful of foamy beer in her face.  She called me a name.  Who cares?  I didn’t. 

I stood up, knocking over my barstool and rushed towards you, arms flailing like I was waving down a rescue plane.  What the fuck are you doing here?  I was about to ask, but then I stopped when I noticed your haircut, I thought it would be rude not to mention that first.  You were also wearing a new dress, the kind of green that fills the middle of those peppermint Cadbury Roses.

People made affected huffing sounds as I sweatily shoved them aside, but fuck them, it was you.  I was so excited and surprised to see you that my heart was hummingbirding just like a hummungbird.  “Aren’t you in Melbourne?!”  It was lucky I spat the words out so fast, because I had only just finished speaking when my face crashed into the concrete floor.  This fancy pants Vietnam vet tripped me with his diamante studded, sequined wooden leg.  Bubbles of blood burst and gurgled in my throat as I smugly laughed and told the old codger the joke was on him, my face broke the fall, so the phone in my shirt pocket was fine.  Vince stumped out of the bar and I revelled in my victory.

I tried to look up and speak to you directly, but first I had to wrench my incisor free from the floor.  My third savage attempt to yank my face backwards worked, I was free.  The floor kept my tooth, but I called it a draw, it was going black anyway.  My eyes crawled up from your blood soaked shoes to your face, but you weren’t you.  Not even a little bit.  I mean you were pretty, and wearing a lovely green dress, but you weren’t really you.  This you was just some disgusted, pretty New Zealander with my blood on her shoes.  You were still in Melbourne. 

The music was dead and there was lots of gleeful whispering zipping around the room.  I looked over at the girl behind the bar, I was going to ask if I could maybe get a tab or something, but she was wiping beer off her face and signalling for the bouncer to punch me in the kidneys.  What a shit night.

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