25 Apr


Nefar­i­ous Demands


Orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished April 25, 1997

Nefar­i­ous demands…or was that blood I found on my brain this morn­ing? Whoa! What a night? Did I take you home, Steve? No mem­o­ry. I got lost and awoke from eter­ni­ty as I sud­den­ly found myself read­ing Bal­ti­more city signs, and did­n’t know how I got there. Turned around imme­di­ate­ly, get­ting home around four said the wife this morn­ing. Bet­ter than that Ban­croft inci­dent back in ’88. Got out of Bal­ti­more with­out inci­dent. Had even for­got­ten the Char­ing Cross hours com­plete­ly, George­town wiped off the dri­ve, until she remind­ed me just now when I called her at the office. I obvi­ous­ly gave her the run­down when I stum­bled in. Mean­while, she did­n’t get to work until almost noon because the car just quit, yes, just quit while in motion as she pulled off Route 50 onto Cour­t­house Road. After get­ting it towed the trou­ble was diag­nosed as the timer belt which requires remov­ing the whole engine block to replace. Gee willikers,complete meltdown…hourly rates and it could have been me last night stuck some­where in black­out city.

Got­ta quit going out peri­od. We don’t have the dis­pos­able income, espe­cial­ly since ISDN is soak­ing up anoth­er $90 a month in fees and anoth­er $800 spread out over three pay­ments for hard­ware and instal­la­tion costs. We just can’t afford the bar scene any­more, peri­od. My twen­ty years of debauch are up. My tick­et is punched. My cup run­neth over. But now I’m trapped by my own words in promis­ing Lit­tle Fred that we’d come in Sat­ur­day to see his broth­er Fre­do and pos­si­ble Richard whom we haven’t seen in almost twelve years. Fre­do is rather recent, maybe a year ago now since we last vis­it­ed the Cross with him the bar­tender, and is of less inter­est to me than see­ing Richard in nos­tal­gic terms.

Word games, breath­a­lyz­ers, and dri­ving for the sheer mean­ness of it all…


© 1997 — 2013, Gabriel Thy. All rights reserved.

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"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""