Another Day Under the Rain (582 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.89 on 31 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ih8u2man (View user info) at 2007-04-15 21:59:45 EDT
Again, it rains in the city. It always rains in this damn city. It pours down endlessly upon the busy streets, washing yesterday away down clogged drains. Weather like this allows a man to think if he's in tune and able. I look out my window at the streetlights and see the endless droplets falling in syncopated rhythm. I think about the moment. I stop for one minute - and that's good enough for me most days. I think I'll go for a walk. I think I'll go down to the bar for a drink.
I walk for a block and stop at the light. It pulses the image of a red hand and as a result my mind engages and locks my knees as they have been programmed to do. Green - go. Red - stop. Looking down, there is an old withered man at my feet. He's slouched on the curb; mumbling and carrying on like a drunkard or maniac of some sort. Swaying forward and back like a timepiece. Irritated by his diseased thoughts, he looks out at the street. A homeless man always sees the street at eye level. It's what keeps him there. He sees the hurried feet pass and watches the discarded candy wrappers fall. A woman enters the scene holding tightly to a baby blue umbrella with a small, feminine wrist. She has that Hepburn mold. Petite and cultured looking - she is no doubt the result of prestigious schooling and due care. She's well off and is oblivious to the man below her sitting cross - legged, wet and swaying back and forth. She exhales a lung full of smoke. The finished butt of her cigarette hits the ground. Instinctively, the man on the street reaches out to it as if it were food. It is, in a way- chemical, carcinogenic nourishment for his depleted body and faltering mind. He looks up at me and meets my gaze as I stand there. His eyes tell the story - turmoil and fear. Of the troubled, sleepless nights and the horrible nightmares that manifest themselves when sleep finally arrives. He has bruises and scabs on his face from the thugs who kicked the shit out of him last week. It looks like it was a good one. They kicked as if they wanted to cave his head in. I can see the stains on his pants, and the tears in his pockets. What does he need pockets for anyways? Green - go.
I open the door to the bar and think for a moment that I am home. I choose a both near the back, inconspicuous and dimly lit. I hang my coat and remove my cigarettes, pulling out a bent one and lighting it immediately. There are others like me here. Reflecting into their bottles and looking off into the distance at a baseball game on TV, wondering how much time has passed. Questioning the time that awaits them. A waitress robotically takes my order. She walks away and I watch her ass move. In her prime she must have driven men mad, but those days are committed to memory now. She probably thinks about it over cheap wine and wonders where she went. An old friend of mine appears. He sits across from me and forces a smile. Old friends get tired of the niceties of commonplace meetings. At first they stop shaking hands, then they stop asking how things are. You both know things are always the same. His skin was once white and pure, but over the worries of time he sits before me now with tight weathered skin. Burnt and like leather, hanging off his cheeks and draped over his understated chin in such a way that I see he's getting old.
"You want a drink?" he asks. I know he just saw me order.
"No." I respond. My voice breaks as it has been hours since I have spoken out loud. I smile and think that the niceties old friends omit only become filled with even less meaningful questions and lowly, empty responses. There is no need to talk of the rain. There is no need to talk of anything. He looks up at the baseball game.
"Fucking idiot." He criticizes. I could care less about a technical error, or a missed catch. Life is a series of technical errors and missed catches. Like the waitress, the man on the street or any honest drunk in this bar would tell you if you cared enough to ask.
The waitress returns with my drink. The old friend waves her off. He's cheap, which is acceptable as he is always broke.
"I'm broke. Do you think you can lend me a few bucks until next week? I'm getting my cheque in and the track is opening on Sunday. Would you like to come with me?"
"No. I'm busy. But here," I reach into my pocket. "here's ten bucks. Should get you through." He sighs, expecting more, knowing that I have it.
"Thanks pal." Again we sit in silence. I'm passive however, and as a result the company is assuring and comfortable despite the empty conversation. I would rather he not talk to be totally honest. There are people that you want to hear speak, but they never talk enough, and then there is everyone else.
"Look, good seeing you again man. You want to come over this week, you let me know. Call me goddamn it. You never fucking call, Sara would really like to see you ya know? I mean it's been months since you've come around."
"I know where to find you."
"I know where to find you too pal. Hey, thanks again for the ten, I really need it man."
It's true the word broke. I know a lot of people who are broke, and the truth is they are broken. It's a cause and effect type of thing. I sip my drink. I light another cigarette.
It trails up like thing fingers grabbing for the ceiling. I inhale and think of the Hepburn lady. The mooch moves on.
Ever been afraid to get to know yourself? Ever wish you could turn it upside down and become someone else? Have a brand new face? Nobody would ever know the things you've said, the hurt you've caused. How long would it take before they grew to hate your new face? Before you weren't new anymore?
"Another drink?"
"Please."
"Still raining out there."
"Yep."
"Never stops."
"Nope."
"It's good for the plants."
"Sure." I think about her alone, drinking cheap wine tonight and thinking about where she went. I do not care about the plants.
I pay my bill. I walk out into the rain again, to see myself back home. There isn't a lot I can do today. The man on the street is gone. He's crawled into a corner somewhere. I feel tired. Maybe I will play my guitar when I get home. Write a song about the Hepburn lady and the street man, the mooch and the waitress, the thoughts that troubled men carry inside their heads alone and full of wait. Anticipating the end of this rain. A rain that never seems to go away - unrelenting in its power to keep us all inside our homes and worse our heads.
I walk up the stairs to my tired little apartment. I look at the hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs and I wonder what makes me keep looking. I am wet and tired. At the top of the stairs my key makes a faint clicking sound and for a moment I wish I was still at the bar.
User Reviews
Submitted by Flack (user info) at 2007-05-01 04:19:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
As promised
Submitted by Snare (user info) at 2007-04-30 03:16:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Now that's some nice evocation.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-21 13:31:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-04-21 13:11:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you rock.
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Thank you kindly.
Submitted by experima (user info) at 2007-04-21 13:11:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
you rock.
Submitted by TuTs (user info) at 2007-04-16 23:02:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:08:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i don't know why, well yes actually i do, but it pisses me off that the character in this story gave the ten bucks to the wrong fucking person
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Love this. i just don't think that the money was given to the wrong person. A bum wants to be a bum. For whatever reason that is the role they want to fill in society. The old friend who fills a comfortable niche is much more important.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-16 15:12:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Progr3ss (user info) at 2007-04-16 01:45:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Beautifully poetic and haunting at the same time. This is, ubersite, the quality we need to be reading.
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Wow. Thank you.
Submitted by DirtyHarry (user info) at 2007-04-16 10:47:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, I'm officially depressed.
Submitted by DancingOtter (user info) at 2007-04-16 10:32:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ooppss, meant to make the last one a 2
Submitted by DancingOtter (user info) at 2007-04-16 10:32:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Very well written, quite the brilliance =)
Submitted by Draco (user info) at 2007-04-16 09:45:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Incredibly depressing for me, but written really f'n well
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-04-16 06:48:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I would rather he not talk to be totally honest. There are people that you want to hear speak, but they never talk enough, and then there is everyone else.
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Whew...someone's depressed today.
Still, it was very well written.
I think I'm gonna go suck-start a shotgun now.
Submitted by Fey (user info) at 2007-04-16 06:29:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yes.
Submitted by orph (user info) at 2007-04-16 05:58:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2007-04-16 04:58:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Superb.
Submitted by rorrim (user info) at 2007-04-16 04:58:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Uz musss Rush 2 da Buzz...
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2007-04-16 04:42:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome
Submitted by Beano312003 (user info) at 2007-04-16 03:44:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ax should do one of his legendary posts linking all the seriously decent writing on this iste.
Pre-emp Bartybarts book things he spoke of.
Submitted by messmind (user info) at 2007-04-16 02:49:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-04-16 02:11:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
dances with air between his legs can't even shoot a blank now
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2007-04-16 02:01:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Kick-assy
Submitted by Progr3ss (user info) at 2007-04-16 01:45:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Beautifully poetic and haunting at the same time. This is, ubersite, the quality we need to be reading.
Submitted by lungfish (user info) at 2007-04-16 01:19:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was good. I love the Hepburn mold.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:48:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:30:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
OHHHHHHHHHHH HOW I WISH IT WOULD RAIN DOWN
DOWN ON ME
OOOOOOOOH YEAH I WISH IT WOULD RAAAAAAIN
RAIN DOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN ON ME NOW
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:20:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Zampano (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:17:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Here's a +2 to balance out the first review. This was better than a negative rating.
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Thanks, hey...can you post more please? Your writing intrigues me.
Which reminds me......
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:19:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Zampano (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:17:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Here's a +2 to balance out the first review. This was better than a negative rating.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:14:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:10:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:08:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i don't know why, well yes actually i do, but it pisses me off that the character in this story gave the ten bucks to the wrong fucking person
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Interesting.
Interesting because we often do.
Submitted by ih8u2man (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:10:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:08:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i don't know why, well yes actually i do, but it pisses me off that the character in this story gave the ten bucks to the wrong fucking person
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Interesting.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:08:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
i don't know why, well yes actually i do, but it pisses me off that the character in this story gave the ten bucks to the wrong fucking person
Submitted by Dance.With.The.Devil. (user info) at 2007-04-15 22:01:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
same putrid shit, another day.