Down at the Lithium Bar

LithiumBar1.mp3

I’m standing at the lithium bar broadcasting black thoughts, carving a gun from a bar of isotope soap, contemplating something desperate while absentmindedly scraping my skull plate with a slab of broken stone. Dark thoughts, black thoughts- deep, hurtful thoughts that would make the most hopeless cynic cringe and shield his eyes.
It’s really futile, given the neighborhood demographics- there's more clueless dipshits in this city than there are warts on a whore's ass- but even so I’m hoping to finish my drink in peace without a lot of pedestrian rhetoric about insipid bullshit that no one really cares about anyhow.
Needless to say every asshole within a hundred mile radius risks cracking their collagen injected maw to give me a shit eating grin as they touch the seat next to me with their professionally manicured nails and ask, “Is this seat taken?”
Thankfully my poor upbringing kicks in (I’m fluent in cro-magnon and picked up a minor in back-alley hooligan at Matilda the Hun’s School for Bad Acting and Rugby Sideline Epithets) and I grunt my reply and cover my mouth, attempting to repel the urge to cough up wicked comments (a lot like large caliber shells aimed directly at the land of my upbringing) about complicated facial hair and watches with flames on them, the amount of metal in your girlfriend’s face and whether you by some odd chance happen to have an incredibly strong electromagnet nearby?
The next time it’s a bimbo with fake tits and synthetic yak wool robes wafting off enough patchouli to choke Ravi Chancre- dreadlocks that make even that dip-shit from Korn wince- and she's hiding the keys to an SUV that burns authentic fossil fuel brought in on the blood of a thousand pilgrim slaves.
Three minutes later it’s an eleven year old baby faced kid in a corduroy hat (properly monogrammed in Muave with the latest corporate logo) set the proscribed 13.03657 left of center, seven pounds of gold on the roll, pants precisely 2.379201 sizes too large and a basketball jersey printed with the signature of the last remaining professional basketball player who didn’t get blackballed for drugs, dog-fighting, RICO violations or illicit activities with a minor. “What up, yo?” HE sits down next to me and flags down the bartender. “White Russian and a gerber shot, yo.” He glances sideways and makes no pretense at sizing me up, smirking and nodding his head as the bartender places a white Russian in a Paul Frank sippy-cup before him and sets the gerber shot down with thinly veiled disdain. He nods towards me and laughs, apparently unimpressed. Picking up the gerber shot he toasts some nubiles across the bar and says, “Later-YO! Enough uh’me for all-yall!”
The girls across the way giggle as I give Danny the standard finger for one more drink. Danny laughs a bit and shrugs, turning his back to me for a moment and then setting a pint in front of me next to a large shot of straight strychnine in a water glass. “Shot’s on the house, Lifehater. Fuel for the fire, eh?”
I glance sideways at baby-spice next to me for a half a click and then smile up at Danny, pick up the shot and toast him. “Thanks, Danny- it’s just what the doctor ordered.”
Danny laughs deep from his belly and wipes the counter in front of me. “Yeah- Doctor Kevorkian."
I give him a quick wink and toss off the whiskey, setting it lightly on the bar in front of me as I wipe my mouth with my forearm. I inadvertantly elbow the proposed rap-star next to me and notice him again for the first time, laughing, “Hey little girl- what’re you doing later tonight?”
He sputters something unintelligible at the comment and spits as I reach over and tip his drink into his lap. As he jumps up I hook his left foot with my right leg and jerk him off balance, slamming his face into a bowl of toothpicks sitting on the bar in front of him.
I give my best menacing leer to the ladies across the way and toss off his knit hat to grab a handful of hair, holding his head up so that they can see puff baby, eyes rolled back in his head with twenty-odd toothpicks sticking out of his face at odd angles. “Porcupine!” I can’t help but laugh. Life’s like this. Fuck ‘em all anyhow- it’s all just a lark and a good time- nothing so serious that it wont heal in a couple weeks.
I toss off the rest of my beer and place two twenties on the bar next to my empty glass. “Thanks Danny- I think I’d better head on home and get to bed. There’s some bad characters come in here late and I’m getting a bit tired.
Danny laughs and hands me a pint for the road. He gives me a grin and a wave and I wave back. We’re two of a kind- obsolete, outdated- and the town we grew up in grew up around us and now that the music stopped there just doesn’t seem to be too many places for guys like Danny and I.
I look back once as I exit the pub and Danny has Baby Spice by his hair and the waistband of his. Danny catches me looking back and laughs, "Taking out the trash!" We both laugh and I turn the corner out of sight. Good enough explanation for me.
I whistle a familiar tune as I walk home, and I laugh to myself as I lean a little hard into the groups of tough kids on the street corners as I make my way. They talk a hard line but they give way. They must be smarter than they look. God knows they'd have to be.

LithiumBar1.mp3