Pauley's Tavern and Pool Hall

Daydreams to cope with sometimes take on lives of their own....

al·le·go·ryˈ (aləˌgôrē) noun

plural noun: allegories

   "A story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one."

   “An Allegory is a form of extended metaphor in which objects, persons and actions in a narrative, are equated with meanings that lie outside the narrative itself.

The underlining meaning has moral, social, religious or political significance of abstract ideas as charity, greed and envy.

Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.”

   Yes, I looked it the f*ck up and with that you know what is needed to be known to understand what the Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall book series is about.

  Oh I should add that the censor is pretty much off most of the time. PG this story is not. PG13 neither. R yes; but beyond that?

Shhh....

Now some background info on the place ”The R*tards" go to play.

(Pauley’s term of endearment for his patrons that don’t act their age, especially when sh*tfaced.

Think about what "r*tarded" means, then how it's used in every day language to be an insulting description.

Just like calling a child a "b*stard", some words should be questioned as too f*cked up to use like they're whatever.

"Wh***" is another one with an edge, and yes these words among others will be questioned, but you as readers decide the fate of these words as they apply to your personal vocabularies.)

   Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall is a sort of 'speak-easy' name for The Iron Horseshoe Tavern established back in 1974 by Paul "Pauley" Kelly.

It’s called this to keep what are now known as 'hipster' invaders away, and its whereabouts only known by word of mouth.

Is it elitist?

Perhaps.

Or it is about self preservation and preventing as long as possible, their haven from being taken over by those that do not honor tradition, nor would uphold Pauley's Code of Conduct.

  New folks are welcome, as long as they can respect the School House Rules and don't complain when Lucy gets unplugged; otherwise foos are getting their a*ses expelled!

   Over the years The Tavern has become a home away from home club house for old timers and mostly blue collar roughneck man children with its latest motley generation currently in their 30’s, give or take.

Some married with children or divorced with visitation on the weekends.

They have bills to pay, money to save, jobs to not f*ck up in order to do both.

Occasionally these a*sholes may brawl and Pauley’s shotgun Grace taken out to dance, with Jukebox Lucy playing the soundtrack; but overall the place is mellow on a weekday afternoon.

   The crowd that made The Tavern its watering hole is loyal and there is a sense of kinship between the boozer drunks.

Stories this tavern has no lack of thanks to the antics of the patrons, which also include my own.

   I wrote myself in as a character using my real name because all this stemmed from a daydream I had, to keep me company while I went for long walks with detours, in my new town of residence;

Boyle Heights, California.

   Though home for me will always be my beloved

East Los Angeles, Califas

   One day I thought of a man that didn’t exist to help me move on and let go of the past, by focusing on the existing hope of the present and lessons learned.

  Perhaps it was my way to prepare myself mentally for the future because I don't have much to my name other than my imagination.

 “Mikey, Jacob, Bobby, Joe, Paul, Davey, Alex, Dennis and Lou”

   Names of made up men that are a close knit pack of pals I will never forget.

They all represent an aspect of the men I have known, both in the good and bad; but they are human, even if fictional.

They are part of the details to the symposium full of zanies.

   This story experiment at times is a sort of open love letter to men that have shown their integrity even as they also try to get things right.

These men are strong but also weak.

Happy but still stressed.

Hopeful but discouraged at times with what they feel is out of their control.

It’s a mix we all endure, but with them; I feel how unequal men still are when it comes to expressing their feelings on it all.

How do I know?

I'm a daughter of one that expressed them regardless.

   The women in this saga also are shown going through their own life roller coasters and attaining their triumphs for they too are strong and capable.

It’s just with them, the way their stories are told is different.

How different?

The goal is to show we could use a little bit of understanding from the fellas.

With their stories, I hope to tell men that not all of us are their enemies or psychos, that more often than not, there was an issue with communicating and emotions go on edge.

We can be worthy of trusting and also respecting.

I hope to tell, we can have our bad days too, even if our hairstyles look nice; and we don't always know what the f*ck we're doing either.

We do know we could be wrong also.

No really.

Women are capable of knowing they can be wrong. Getting us to admit it, now that's something else.

*cough*

I want to show the men I was able to reach through to, women can be their friends as well, and shoulder part of the old burdens that say a man must bare these alone.

Even as women, we can relate and be more than arm candy hood ornaments, "Honey can you bring me a beer?".

  But this is to reassure the males that are willing to read, they'll have a place in what is usually considered female terrain.

  Yes this is a quirky soap opera Spanglish novela, for a subculture of those that bought in to what a friend called:

"The Rockabilly Retirement Plan for Punks, Skins and Goths".

And what was surprising, the guys did get in to it as much as the gals. I mean, how can I write an open love letter to men, if I don't include what matters to and interests them?

  From the serious like Erectile Dysfunction or even the car not starting and being already late for work.

To the "Are you f*cking serious!?!" and the latter said in two manners.

One with enthusiastic glee like they scored, and the other in BOHICA despair.

Espeakin' of which....

This is a bedtime story dedicated most of all to Our Troops and 'Docs' green side or civilian; for I do know the power of a reality break, if not reading oneself asleep.

And this because I want to "Play It Forward" and yes I do mean play.

  The man I would spend countless silent moments, wondering about his happiness and safety; he was the life lesson I needed to get me out of a bad place; even as I felt helpless knowing which bad place he was headed back to.

This Army Coptor Doctor ridding one of Anansi's spiderweb threads, tied to the foot of a Dragonfly Dustoff back in Stan; reminded me why being able to control your focus, makes dealing with difficult things, easier to cope with.

The chaos will still be there, it's how you allow it to affect you, that makes a very important difference.

You either learn how to hold on and fight or you don't. That "don't" had been my concern for him.

There was a reason his story began to stand out to me.

"Yet for me that also came from the desert, compassion I also knew how to show...."

  Eyes like his and lack of smile, you don't forget.

He had the face of many that aren't returning all that well; but his face comforted me when it would look silly; but haunted when it was a stoic with unintended, resigned grace.

  So this allegory that aims to be a cult classic, does have its soul, as that odd daydream of mine, found a life of its own.

And it became a Shoretale Fable of Therapy in Motion and thinking up the answers that become the solutions.

It's all just rhyming for the reasons, that carry us through the seasons of change.

Suggestion: Look up Grandiose, Ostentatious, Pretentious, Narcissistic, Delusional, Self Absorbed Motor Mouth, but most of all Ironic Catharsis. Thank you.

Back To The Top Where It Starts

Copyright ©2017 Rev. Mother L. G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Lagrimas Y Sangre"

Book#1 Pauley's Retarded Children

Written By L.G. Flores

Chapter 2

 “Gina Pic Chik"

(Play Video For Soundtrack While You Read)

Thursday August 23, 2012

The Iron Horse Shoe Tavern

10:43pm

   He looks at our car drive off the parking lot. He’s surprised with himself. Michael pulls back out his cell phone and looks at my phone number as the last one he called. He presses “Add to Contacts”. He then goes through the options and presses edit. He types “Gina”. He now looks at my name. He presses edit again and adds “Pic Chik”. He puts away his cell and returns to smoking his cigarette.

  He’s taking it in; he went up to a gal, chatted her up and got her number… Five minutes pass, he pulls out his cell phone again to see my name in his call log; it was still there and then returns his phone back to his trou pocket. He returns back inside and heads to the jukebox.

  The Temptations are singing “Just My Imagination”. He flips to where Lynyrd Skynyrd is and looks through their songs list. “What’s Your Name?” appeals. He presses the buttons to pull it up. He walks back to the pool table.

“Where’s your friend Mikey?” Paul asks.

“She had to leave.”

”Yeah we know. We saw the hot one bitch slap Connor.”

“So is she straight or a lesbian?” Alex now inquiring.

“She’s straight.” he replies, Joe next.

“Did you get her number?”

“Yeah.”

   The guys grin and cheer him on, even patted him on the back regardless of all but Dennis, losing five bucks.

“Wow Mikey, way to go! You’re gonna wait a while before you call though right?” Paul saying so as to remind him.

“Dude will you quit it?”

“Hey Mikey, I’m just sayin’, don’t be so eager this time.”

  Dennis jumps in “Yeah Mikey, you just met her, give it a few days man.”

“This isn’t fucking Swingers assholes!”

  But Michael knows the guys are right, he just didn’t want to be reminded. He pours out another pint of Bud Light. Dennis looks at Mikey do this as the others go back to playing pool.

“Hey Mikey.”

“What?”

“That was cool you went for it. She seems nice.”

“She is.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you a shot to celebrate.”

   Michael looks at his friend and feels good he got my number. They walk over to the bar and see Connor sitting on one of the stools drinking Jameson on the rocks. Susan’s hand mark on his cheek isn’t as noticeable as it was earlier. Dennis orders two shots of the same whiskey.

“Yo Connor! Cheek still hurt?”

“Fuck you Dennis!”

   Those around including the barkeep giggle.

“Well at least Mikey scored her friend’s number.”

   Everyone that heard turn to look in disbelief and amusement. Michael already knows where this is going. Dennis passes him his shot and they down. The bartender pours more Jameson in to Connor’s glass and Mikey knows that will go on his tab.

“Thanks, maybe you’ll have better luck.”  

Michael asks Connor “What did you tell her?”

“I don’t want to talk about it but just watch out because her friend looks like she doesn’t slap.”

   The others giggle again and return to drinking. Dennis and Michael walk back to the pool table.

11:42 pm

   Michael grew tired of the game. It’s almost midnight.

“Hey dicks, I’m hungry, let’s go to D*nny’s already.”

  Paul agrees, finishes his beer and leaves to hit the head, Alex, Joe and Dennis follow. The guys say goodbye to the other heads, wave to the bartender and leave.

  Joe can’t go to D*nny’s because his wife wants him home by 12:30 am on a weekday. This leaves Michael, Dennis, Alex and Paul. Alex and Michael get in Alex’s ’69 Dodge Dart. Dennis and Paul get in Paul’s ’74 Ford Maverick and they all drive to D*nny’s on Imperial.

  They arrive, park and walk in. They sit at their usual booth that was available. It wasn’t too crowded in the restaurant with the other Pauley’s drunks that also were there to sober up. The waitress working the graveyard shift brings over four cups, leaves, and then returns with a carafe of coffee and so starts the banter.

“Same as always my dearest hellions?”

“You know us so well Gladys.”

 “Yeah, yeah… just because you boys are good tippers that pay for my pedicures.”

“That’s because we love you and want you to have pretty feet.”

“Be still my heart.”

   Now Gladys is one of those characters that make the ritual of going to Denny’s enjoyable.”Still want me to start you off with cheese sticks hons?”

“Gladys it wouldn’t be right if we didn’t.”

“True, it may hail or something else that would dent your pretty cars.”

“Don’t even think it!”

   And yes this is the exact same exchange of words every time the guys come to D*nny’s after drinking at the tavern. You would think after the 50th time, it would have gotten old, but nope. Gladys is just that cool and is worth eating at D*nny’s for, and funding her pedicures.

   Gladys is a middle aged woman that is a grandmother full of sass. She’s been around the block a few times and used up her transfer yeeeeears ago. She has chestnut brown hair with grays she wears in a banana clip, besides bobby pins to hold down her hair not long enough to fasten between its teeth.

  Her eyes are a speckled hazel green. She’s on the thick side now in life, but you can tell Gladys was a hottie when she was younger. She wears cushioned shoes that are fugly, but do help since she’s on her feet most of her shift, which explains why she enjoys her pedicures. In them, she’s a total of 5’6”.

  Dennis is texting, Alex and Paul thumb wrestling and Michael…. Where is Michael?

Friday August 24, 2012

D*nny’s off Imperial

12:14am

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” A much buzzed Michael says to himself. His judgment to know better than do what he’s about to do: OFF!

  1 New Message

    I was getting close to washing the dishes I left in the sink when I hear my text alert of little birds chirping. I turn on the hot water and rinse the soap suds off my hands. I’m thinking it’s Chris texting to see if I’m up to help him not fall asleep at work, or Gustavo back from band practice, or Sinko not able to sleep, or Bones back home drinking, in the mood for one of our all nighter, weird tangent conversations only his demented Texan quiffed noggin’ can conjure.

  It’s not from Chris, Gustavo, Sinko or Bones at all, it’s from Michael. I open up the text message. “Sorry if woke u. I wntd 2 chk if u got hom ok.”

  Hmmm, he’s being sweet. FUCK! I’m so gonna catch flak from Annie and Susan if I respond at this hour. Nevermind. Dishes. Sink. Wash them.

12:20 am

 “Where were you?”

 “I went outside to smoke.”

   Paul and Alex suspect bullshit, but aren’t ready to raise the flag. Dennis is still texting, eats, texts some more, eats again.

12:24 am

Reply: “You didn’t wake me. I got home safe. How about you?” (send).

  I’m being polite, that’s all since he showed concern and well he was cute so he gets special treatment. I know it’s sad but it’s true and before you guys jump up my ass about it, y’all do it too so there ;Pffft!!i!!

12:24am

   Michael hears the faint sound of his text alert and feels the vibration. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at the screen from under the table to shield it from the guys. It was from, me “Gina Pic Chik”. He puts his cell phone back in his pocket.

  Paul and Alex are holding a conversation about who is the hotter bottle blond; Loni Anderson from WKRP or Pamela Anderson from Bay Watch while Dennis finally pulls away from his cell phone to eat his 'gramslam.

  Michael only has a bit of hash browns mixed with yellow egg yolks, red ketchup, and lots of black pepper left on his plate. He sips from his lukewarm coffee and thinks of a bullshit story to give the guys. Michael gets up to go outside.  

 “Where are you going?” Alex asks him.

 “I got a text from John; he wants me to call to let him know if he can borrow my other tool belt.”

 “You can’t text him?”

  Paul stops eating to listen to Michael’s answer.

“He wants to tell me something and I want to smoke,”

“Another one?” Paul joins Alex in asking.

“You counting fucker?”

“No.”

   The guys are on to him but give him the benefit of the doubt anyway. Michael steps back outside and lights up.

12:44 am

1 New Message: “Not hom yet. over at d*nnys havin brekfas w d guys.”

   I’m still awake so I respond quickly.

12:45 am

Reply: “Ah dreakfast, cool beans.” (send).

12:46 am

1 New Message: “Yeah, is it col if i call u 2mrow?”

12:47am

Reply: “It’s cool. Well have a good morning and we’ll talk Saturday.” (send)

12:47 am

1 New Message: “Sorry, ment latr 2day.”

12:48 am

Reply: “Gotcha, yes you can call me but FYI, I have weird sleeping hours so I may be snoozing.” (send).

12:48 am

1 New Message: “Is it col if I call u in a bit?”

   Should I say it is? Got to think about this…

12:49am

Reply: “It’s okay, I’ll be up for a little bit longer.” (send)

12:50 am

1 New Message: “I’ll call in 20 minets.”

   Well Annie and Susan are going to chew me a new one. I finish washing my dishes, then I wipe the counters and stove top clean. I check the microwave and toaster oven, they can use a wipe down also. I sweep the floor, pick up the debris with the dust pan and condense all the trash bags in my apartment in to one. I cinch closed the drawstring tall kitchen bag. I take it down stairs to the dumpster, it’s still brisk out. I return to my apartment and go through my bills and receipts, then file them. 1:04 am still got time.

12:54am

“Did you call John?” Dennis asks.

“Yeah.”

“What did he need to tell you that he couldn’t text?”

Michael couldn’t think fast enough.

“You called her didn’t you?”

 “No.” He’s so busted.

“You are such a fucking liar.”

  Paul tells him already knowing what Michael did. Alex adds to what became a lecture.

“Dude we told you to wait.”

“I just sent her a text asking if she got home okay, fuck!”

“At one in the morning?”

“That’s kinda late don’t you think?” Paul asking the obvious.

“I know but I wanted to know if she got home safe.”

“You couldn’t wait ‘til morning?”

“Fine, I fucked up but she didn’t seem to mind.”

“She texted back?”

“Yeah, she was awake.”

  The guys look at Michael.

“You ended it there right Mikey?”

“Of course I did.” (Bullshit.)

“Mikey don’t call her.”

“Alex I’m not going to call her.”

“Yeah right. Dude you’re going to come off as desperate if you do.”

“I said I wasn’t going to call her!”

   Paul rolls his eyes.

  “Well Mikey, good luck on not fucking this up. I’m going home.”

  Paul pulls out his wallet and takes out cash to pay for his meal and leaves part of the tip for Gladys. “Catch you Retards later.”

“Take it easy Paul.”

   The guys finish up and pay at the front after they left Gladys the rest of her good tip at the table.

“Calling it a night my dearest hellions?” Gladys asks.

“Yeah, but Mikey isn’t.”

“Fuck you Dennis!”

“What did you do this time?” she asks.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE I JUST ASK HER IF SHE GOT HOME SAFE!!!”

   The others eating turn over to look.

“Mikey met a girl over at Pauley’s tonight.” Alex fills Gladys in.

“You don’t say. The rest of you place bets yet?”

“Gladys, not funny.”

“Hey kid, I’m not the one that loses them as soon as he finds them.”

  Alex and Dennis laugh.

“I just texted her to ask if she got home safe and these dickheads are giving me shit for it!”

“Can you blame them?”

   Mikey glares at his most favorite D*nny’s waitress in the world.

“Just messing with you, but call her after she’s had her beauty sleep okay hon?”

“Don’t tell him that because he’ll call her at the buttcrack of dawn.”

“Fuck you Denis.”

“Fuck you back, at least the chicks I pick up don’t dodge me after A DAY!”

   Gladys just rolls her eyes while she smiles and goes back to see who needs a refill on their coffee.

   They exit the restaurant; Alex now is the one that wants to smoke. Michael looks at his watch; he’s going to miss the 20 minute mark. He wants to take out his phone and send me a message to say he’s going to be a few minutes longer than expected; but knows it’s best he wait until he’s back home in his bedroom. The remaining three get in Alex’s Dart and head home.

1:29 am

   He’s not going to call. It’s late and it’s not a proper time to have a phone conversation with what Susan described perfectly. He’s just some guy I met at a bar and hung out with once.

  I light a tea light under my liquid incense burner and add a few drops of lavender and rose oil. I debate smoking the last of my stash before I turn off for the night. Fuck it! I’m sparking.

  I rather be stoned bummed out, than just bummed out I’m caring about a late night, drunk dial phone call. I can just imagine what he thinks of me for saying it was okies for him to call. Too late to worry about it now. No really. It’s too late at night to think about this sheet.

   I pull out my ‘at home’ piece out of my Dr. Feel Good Bag and pack a bowl. I go to the bathroom to hot box. I shut the door and turn on my vintage, cross hair fan I keep on the top of the toilet tank. I light an incense stick, Egyptian Musk. I place the stick in the crown of my little Queen of Spades figurine. I sit on the edge of my bathtub and inhale my first hit.

  I feel the smoke fill my lungs. I hold it for a few seconds then exhale. I do this about three times and I’m cruisin’. It’s too late to get into writing one of my short stories. I’m also not feeling uploading the pictures I took of Michael and his friends. I put my piece back in the padded pouch I keep it in and hit the sack to contemplate the silent freeways down the street.

   I’m not falling asleep. I don’t check the time, but I figure it’s about 2:15-2:20 am when my text alert went off. I get up out of my bed and walk to the bookcase shelf where I plug in my phone to charge. 1 New Message, It’s from Michael.

  Maybe I should reply in the morning. Y’know I don’t know why I ignored the boundary rules Annie and Susan try to impress on me. Who am I kidding? I’m stoned.

“You still awake?”

Reply: I am and be chillin’ you?” (send)

1:45am

1 New Message: “Oh cool. Sorry im txting u so late. Have a goodnite.”

   It’s kinda cute that he couldn’t wait to talk to me, but at the same time, it’s kinda too soon. Now there’s a few ways I can take this.

  This Michael guy was adorable and I was sober when I met him and well, it has been a while since I got to chat up a guy I found attractive. The other ways don’t seem to come to mind, so basically I’m losing beauty sleep for a guy I thought was easy on the eyes. Seriously, when will I learn?

(Ringing—Calling Michael) “Hello?”

“Not feeling sleepy I take it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, I’m probably bugging you.”

“No, actually I didn’t expect we’d ever speak again.” I’m being honest.

“Nah, I thought you were really cool. Hey, I was wondering if can invite you out for coffee.”

   Michael went for it; he can handle this and show the guys he’s not clueless.

“Coffee?” He wants to talk. I hesitate answering.

“You still there?” he asks, now thinking he is clueless.

“Yes, just thinking where I can meet you.”

“I can come pick you up.”

****Another Personal Policy: NEVER LET SOMEONE YOU HARDLY KNOW, ESPECIALLY ONE YOU MET AT A BAR, KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE UNTIL THEY EARN YOUR TRUST!****

  (But I tend to ignore that personal policy too.)

“No offence Michael, but I would feel more comfortable if I met you somewhere.”

“Oh, no problem. Where do you want to meet up?”

   I think about it.

“You up to coming down to East LA?”

   Now he’s quiet for a while. He forgot that’s where I said we were coming from.

“I can do that.”

“Great! You got something to write on?”

“Hold on.”

   He puts me on hold. He’s rushing to find something to write on. He finds something. Now it’s finding something to write with. He finds a Sharpie, he picks back up. “Okay, where am I going?”

“1st Street and Gage Avenue. The place is called Olympic Donuts.”

“You want to meet at a donut shop?”

“Aye, it’s a cool donut shop, still giving directions.”

“Oh, sorry, writing them down.”

“Take the 60 and get off at Downey Road. Not sure what side of the exit you’ll be getting off at but drive west bound ‘till you see Gage and hang a right. You’ll be driving on 3rd Street.”

   Michael jots the info down.

“Is tomorrow good?” (Don’t be too quick girl.)

“Sunday works better for me.”

“Okay Sunday it is. Is noon too early?”

“No, it’s fine. Hey Michael, I should let you go, I’m feeling sleepy.”

“Oh yeah, I got to go sleep myself, I got to be up in 4 hours.”

“Whoa, are you serious?”

“It’s not a big deal; I take a nap after work. Alright Gina, I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Awesome, sounds like a plan. Well goodnight, morning, whatever.”

“Same to you. Bye.”

   I pull the phone away to see the screen light up with what time the call ended and how long we were on the phone. The screen isn’t lighting up. I think he’s waiting for me to hang up. After a few more seconds he hangs up. I get to knock out now but now I’m smiling thinking I just got asked out on a date I am excited about!

  I got to write this down. I take my notebook off the heater my bed is placed up against and I do one of the most girly things I haven’t done in woooooh…

“Friday August 24, 2012

The Light House/My Apartment

Boyle Heights, CA

1:51am

   I met a guy earlier tonight at a tavern where Suzy dragged Annie and me so she could meet a guy she slapped. His name is Michael, the one I met, not the one Susan slapped.

  He just asked me out for coffee for this Sunday. That's a date right?

  How am I feeling? I’m smiling if that says anything.

  He’s really cute and it was easy to talk with him. He was a Marine, like awesome right? I know it’s just coffee so I got to keep it in perspective… Maybe I won’t think of what's his face for once.”

  I pause because I’m seeing what his face’s face. It’s been years since… I don’t want to think about him. I go back to writing.

   “I thought he was charming and I liked how he smiled. His eyes are brown, so was his hair and…”

  I pause again. Their faces are different and voices too. Michael’s is deeper, yet there were those similarities. I go back to writing.

   “…he was a nice tall, the kind where I’d only have to get up on my toes a little bit. He wore a grey scally that looked good on him. He had a black Dropkick Murphys t-shirt on and a studded belt for a punk touch I thought was kewl.

  I hope I don’t get nervous Sunday; it has been a while since I’ve gone out for coffee with a guy that I thought was extra cute. I think Clinton was the last one and that was back in 2005! Whoa… Has it really been that long? Yeah the other guys were friend zone… It’s just coffee, it’s just coffee… I’m having coffee!!! Mees happy.”

   I close my notebook, put it back on top of the heater and I lie back down. Fucker is so going to be on my mind. Better him than…. {sigh}

1:50 am

“I could have handled that better.”

  Michael wants to kick himself since he does realize he was pushing his luck, but at least he secured a coffee date. For a split second he wonders why he didn’t wait until morning after I had my beauty sleep as Gladys suggested.

  He had hoped it would be Saturday when we’d continue our odd, but entertaining little chat. “Olympic Donuts in East LA…” he says softly to himself. He pulls the covers over his shoulder. “… Don’t call her ‘til Sunday.”

 Friday August 24, 2012

Michael’s Pad

5:55am

 (Clock Radio Alarm) Michael lying on his side reaches over half asleep to turn off his alarm. He pulls back the covers, sits up and stretches. He tastes the morning yuck mouth. He stands up, puts on his robe and slippers, scratches and then heads to the bathroom so he can take a leak.

  He walks to the kitchen and the coffee maker was done brewing the M@xwell House. He pours out coffee in to his coffee mug that has a picture of a little girl in a pink tutu and fairy wings with a tiara on one side and on the other it says “World’s Best Daddy”. He adds sugar and powdered creamer since the liquid kind ran out.

  He walks out the back door through the laundry room that is beyond the kitchen. He sits on the steps, lights up a Camel Wide and sips from his coffee. He’s enjoying the sound of little birds chirping their good mornings. He stands up from the steps and walks over to his vegetable garden, he continues to drink his coffee and smoke his cigarette.

  After he is done smoking, he goes back inside to make himself breakfast. He places two frozen Egg* waffles in the toaster, nukes 3 also frozen sausage links and scrambles two eggs. He plates up and eats after he serves himself more coffee. It’s 6:20 am.

   Dennis already dressed, walks in to the kitchen and pours out coffee in to his insulated cobalt blue mug. “Mornin’”

“Mornin’”

“So Mikey, did you keep texting after we got back?”

“Shhh… eating my breakfast.”

“Fucking Mikey! So what happened?”

“We talked on the phone.” he answers while he chews.

“Really? You called her?”

“Nope, she called me.” Dennis is surprised, Michael then continues. “I asked her out.”

“You did? What she say?”

“Yes.”

“Wow! When’s your date?”

“Sunday, we’re meeting up for coffee.” Dennis nods his head after he takes a sip. “In East LA.” Dennis chokes a bit.

“You’re seriously going to East LA for coffee?”

“Yup.”

“Is she Mexican?”

“I don’t know, I guess.”

“Have you ever gone out with a Hispanic girl?”

“Nope, first time.”

“Hmmm, well if she likes you, maybe she’ll cook for you. I got to go, see you later.”

“Later.”

   Michael finishes his breakfast and gets to getting ready to go to work himself.

 

Friday August 24, 2012

The Lighthouse/My Apartment

Boyle Heights, Califas

8:00am

“ I know the elephant has a big ass, don’t judge... (BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP...) …and don’t feed it anymore peanuts, it gives it indigestion!”

   Okies, I was at the circus and I was part of the freak show and the clown full of cars were drunk on A.M.F.’s, that’s all I remember. Actually no; I usually don’t remember shit from my dreams. (BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP…) I got to turn off Dream Machine (the name that was printed on my radio alarm clock) I don’t want to get out of bed and why did I even set the alarm? (BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP…) Fuck you! (BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP-BEEEEP…) I drag my ass out of bed and turn off D.M. I disarm the little fucker.

   I walk over to my laptop and turn it on. I’m trying to figure out if it’s Friday or Saturday. It’s Friday according to Ziggy II (my laptop's name). I rub my eyes then yawn as I stretch out my arms, and then twist to crack my spine one way, then the other. I also have morning yuck mouth, eww.

  I’m not checked in yet, but on auto-pilot I walk to the kitchen and open the cupboard door. I go for my white with strawberry vines coffee mug, fill it with water and put it to nuke two minutes. It finally hit me, my first coherent thought of the day. I got asked out for coffee… whoa. I said yes… NICE!

   The microwave was done heating the water to scalding. Every time I heat water in the microwave I remember the night I got burned on my thigh by spilling my cup.

  I think of having to call the cabulance that dropped me off at L.A. County+USC Medical Center, which I dislike very much, instead of White Memorial that was closer but I couldn’t walk to from the pain; dang contracts!

   I remember how I was given two gowns to change in to and a paper bag to put my clothes in, and then waiting to give my insurance information while in excruciating pain as I was ready to climb the walls until I could be seen.

  That's fucked up to only treat me after I ensured them they will get paid. The large burn on my thigh blistered and I remember the blistered skin getting cut off and it was just nasty as it drained.

  I was given liquid morphine I think they said but yeah, I got fucked up. Not from the pain med, actually I didn’t fill the script for the Vicodin I was given.

  Nope I got fucked up by a cup of hot water and I can’t even sue Mickey D’s for that one. I lucked out one of the nurses on shift was cool giving me a ride home since I didn’t have anything for bus fare and I really didn’t know how to get back. I remember her driving and giving a lecture about being in control of your life, I think, and we smoked menthol cigarettes.

  Thinking about it, maybe her speech was more for her to hear it, than for me to have a life makeover that had actually started back in 2010, a very much fucked up year in my life.  

   It was scary that night because my ex wasn’t there to take care of my injury as he would have insisted he do, or supervise who was. As much as he has hurt me, I felt safer at first having someone with medical knowledge as a mate to protect me.

  I really felt out on my own after that burn, not to say the emotional burn prior didn’t make me feel I also was. The water was hot and I add a green tea bag and walk back to the laptop to do my rounds.

   In between checking my Y*hoo email which included my horoscope; and then Psychobilly Fever and Cara Book; I thought of how I actually exchanged numbers with a guy.

  He was cute, I’m glad I went out last night, just goes to show one never knows unless they put themselves in the places when the right time also happens. I want to text him but it’s still early. After 9 I’ll wish him a good morning. I should eat something so I can take my morning doses.

Michael's job site

9:22 am

   Michael hears and feels the vibration of his text alert and pulls out his phone from his pocket. He looks at the screen and couldn't help but smile.

1 New Message from drum roll please…

“Gina Pic Chik”! (Yay! *crowd roar* That's enough now.)

  He opens it up. “Since you woke me up earlier Jarhead, I wanted to return the favor and say good morning. Have a great day at work *smiles*” His smile widens to a grin.

"Hey John."

"What?"

“She texted to wish me a good morning.”

“The girl from last night?”

“Yeah.”

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