Post by mic on Nov 30, 2008 13:12:52 GMT -5
Now this was more like it.
Dirty, dilapidated, grungy, down-right rotten.
Ahhh, felt like home.
Mich couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted him when he shouldered open the heavy metal door that kept the rest of the world out of the seedy bar known simply as "The Black Bull." The air was choked with a cloud of stale cigarette smoke and from where he was standing Mich could just make out a few stains of puke and god knows what else on the back wall. Hell even the beer stains on the floor were just right. It was the shitter of shit holes and Mich couldn't be happier.
There was just one thing missing.
His heavy boots clunked dully on the old wooden floorboards and one or two of the few patrons in the place glanced up from whatever reveries they were lost in as he walked on by. Other than that no one paid him any attention. To them he looked just like them. Lost, degraded and didn't give a flying fuck.
Mich had to use the sleeve of his battered leather jacket to clear away an inch of dirt and grime off the old record player that had been stuffed into a dark corner. Sure it was outdated by a couple of decades and didn't have the fancy neon frills of a 50's jukebox but it was the song selection he was after, not the decor. The cocky smirk on his lips was barely reflected back to him as he placed a dirt-caked finger on a single chipped button and pressed. The old machine gave a few shaky clunks and rattles but unlike the poor souls that wafted into the bar night after night the machine had yet to break down completely.
It took a moment but like it or not the tinny sound of a honky-tonk style guitar crackled on the speaks. Old George Thorogood's voice grumbled about a workin' mans dog-gone miseries and for a moment the old bar seemed to take notice. A couple of unwashed heads rose as ears were cocked. Everyone knew this song. They were living it.
Mich chuckled quietly under his breath as he turned around and swaggered over to an empty table that was covered in sticky rim rings and an overflowing ashtray. Without ceremony he plunked himself down onto a chair and hiked his feet onto the one across from him. Draped as he was he looked about as strung out as a snuff junkie. And you know what? That didn't sound like a bad idea.
"What'll it be," croaked a voice that had smoked a pack too many. Mich looked up and as he did so his sunglasses slipped down his nose. The frumpy waitress got a good look at his eyes but didn't seemed to be bothered by it. As long as he had money there wasn't a problem.
"Hmmmm." Mich growled before he hung his head over the back of his chair and let the glasses slide back into place. "What's your best hard stuff?"
The woman arched a heavily penciled eyebrow. "The usual or the usual. Take your pick."
The white of his teeth could have lit up the room as Mich laughed. God it felt good to rub shoulders with the lowest of the low again.
"Gimme whatever you got. No glass. Just the bottle." He shot her a cocky smirk that she just rolled her eyes at. She did however blink when he blew her a kiss and with a snort she went over to the bar to get his poison.
Dirty, dilapidated, grungy, down-right rotten.
Ahhh, felt like home.
Mich couldn't help but smile at the sight that greeted him when he shouldered open the heavy metal door that kept the rest of the world out of the seedy bar known simply as "The Black Bull." The air was choked with a cloud of stale cigarette smoke and from where he was standing Mich could just make out a few stains of puke and god knows what else on the back wall. Hell even the beer stains on the floor were just right. It was the shitter of shit holes and Mich couldn't be happier.
There was just one thing missing.
His heavy boots clunked dully on the old wooden floorboards and one or two of the few patrons in the place glanced up from whatever reveries they were lost in as he walked on by. Other than that no one paid him any attention. To them he looked just like them. Lost, degraded and didn't give a flying fuck.
Mich had to use the sleeve of his battered leather jacket to clear away an inch of dirt and grime off the old record player that had been stuffed into a dark corner. Sure it was outdated by a couple of decades and didn't have the fancy neon frills of a 50's jukebox but it was the song selection he was after, not the decor. The cocky smirk on his lips was barely reflected back to him as he placed a dirt-caked finger on a single chipped button and pressed. The old machine gave a few shaky clunks and rattles but unlike the poor souls that wafted into the bar night after night the machine had yet to break down completely.
It took a moment but like it or not the tinny sound of a honky-tonk style guitar crackled on the speaks. Old George Thorogood's voice grumbled about a workin' mans dog-gone miseries and for a moment the old bar seemed to take notice. A couple of unwashed heads rose as ears were cocked. Everyone knew this song. They were living it.
Wanna tell you a story,
About the house-man blues
I come home one Friday,
Had to tell the landlady I'd-a lost my job
She said that don't confront me,
Long as I get my money next Friday
Now next Friday come I didn't get the rent,
And out the door I went
About the house-man blues
I come home one Friday,
Had to tell the landlady I'd-a lost my job
She said that don't confront me,
Long as I get my money next Friday
Now next Friday come I didn't get the rent,
And out the door I went
Mich chuckled quietly under his breath as he turned around and swaggered over to an empty table that was covered in sticky rim rings and an overflowing ashtray. Without ceremony he plunked himself down onto a chair and hiked his feet onto the one across from him. Draped as he was he looked about as strung out as a snuff junkie. And you know what? That didn't sound like a bad idea.
"What'll it be," croaked a voice that had smoked a pack too many. Mich looked up and as he did so his sunglasses slipped down his nose. The frumpy waitress got a good look at his eyes but didn't seemed to be bothered by it. As long as he had money there wasn't a problem.
"Hmmmm." Mich growled before he hung his head over the back of his chair and let the glasses slide back into place. "What's your best hard stuff?"
The woman arched a heavily penciled eyebrow. "The usual or the usual. Take your pick."
The white of his teeth could have lit up the room as Mich laughed. God it felt good to rub shoulders with the lowest of the low again.
"Gimme whatever you got. No glass. Just the bottle." He shot her a cocky smirk that she just rolled her eyes at. She did however blink when he blew her a kiss and with a snort she went over to the bar to get his poison.
One bourbon, one scotch, one beer
Well I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when,
I've been drinking bourbon, whiskey, scotch and gin
Gonna get high man I'm gonna get loose,
Need me a triple shot of that juice
Gonna get drunk don't you have no fear
I want one bourbon, one scotch and one beer
One bourbon, one scotch, one beer
Well I ain't seen my baby since I don't know when,
I've been drinking bourbon, whiskey, scotch and gin
Gonna get high man I'm gonna get loose,
Need me a triple shot of that juice
Gonna get drunk don't you have no fear
I want one bourbon, one scotch and one beer
One bourbon, one scotch, one beer