literature

Another Night Left Lying Wet on the Curb

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TonberryCrunch's avatar
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Literature Text

Heh. That bastard sure gave me a run for my money. Leaving me bleeding outside the bar and walking away like he's some rat bastard supreme. Makes me sick. Could see it - smell it - on him the moment he walked in. Glad I got to pound his face in a couple of times. He won't be such a prissy pompous little pussy pretty boy when he gets home, that's for sure.

No Frank, I don't need you to help me up again. Even completely wasted I can handle this alone. Frank. Big tough muscle for the bar. No insecurities there, nope. It was only obvious how intimate he and I would become. My need for a drunken brawl, his job to keep customers in line. Doesn't make me not hate his guts. No fun goody boy wearing the mask of a big rough and tough motherfucker.

Those masks are the real problem. Pompous little penguin boy wears his as the important bastard probably runs a company 40 fuckin' figure salary highest of the ends when he's really some closeted coward who puts his tail between his legs when shit hits the fan. Gritty tough Frank who's actually afraid to start any conflict and on the highest of high horses.

Makes me glad to wear the mask of some lowlife drunkard when I am one. At least I don't have to lie to any other bastard like those sorry deadbeats. Your shirt pocket is empty. Mine is comfortably embracing my flask, which has his belly comfortably filled with whiskey, which is comfortably drank by me.

"Even a man of loose morals can have standards." I tell good old Frank between my retching and the spitting of blood. I don't even care if he can't understand me.
I think my goal was to emulate Hunter S. Thompson, but I've never actually read him, something I want to change.
© 2012 - 2024 TonberryCrunch
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