On the Edge of Life, Part 2
(Note: Read Part 1 for the genesis of this serial novel. You should probably read Part 1 first anyway, but I suppose you don't have to. I mean, it's weird enough to stand on its own. )
I tend to get beat up a lot. It's my fault mostly. It's not that I'm a 'perfect target', like the self-defense experts would say. You know the ones who teach people how NOT to be mugged. Also, I'm no geek-burger that gets beaten by high-school jocks 'Just-cause'. At least I don't think I am. My problem is I always have to start something. At least that's what Josh says, but what would he know- he's never been in a fight in his life.
Last night is a perfect example. So I'm down a few blocks from our apartment at a bar. A place called the Treehouse. It's got a fucking tree growing in it- if you can believe that. About a year or so ago some folks got shot in here. Not that it's important to this, but I figured you might wanna know that little info tidbit. I know Josh would. He was so pissed he wasn't there, so was I but for different reasons. So anyway, I'm chatting this girl up. I think she called herself Isis or some crap. In this day and age, you can never tell if a name was given at birth or made up on a whim. Names are so interchangeable and practically useless anyway, it's just what you call when you want someone to answer. Only superheroes define themselves by their names. Spider-man, Batman, Superman, Wonder woman- you get the idea. So I'm talking to Isis, I seem to have a talent for conversation. Seems as if I can get anyone to talk to me. I think there are two reasons for this. First off, I don't care what people think of me- Secondly I rarely have ulterior motive- like getting her in bed. Sex was not my intent; sure she was cute and I wouldn't have minded it, but I just wanted to drink beer and chat. If we ended up in bed, fine, if not, no skin off my nose so why aim for that and ruin a good conversation. We'd been talking for a good ten or fifteen minutes, the topic had moved over to religion. She was trying to sell me on old Egyptian gods.
It's right about at this point that the biggest piece of prep meat I'd ever seen walked into the bar. He spots Isis, pushes his way through the crowd to us, puts his arm around her and says, "Who the fuck is this?"
I wake up lying on a sidewalk. How was I supposed to know he had friends with him? I can't open my right eye, and my pain has pain… I roll over and vomit against a building, thank god I didn't do that while I was asleep- could'a choked on it. I push myself to my feet and stumble in the direction of home. Josh is gonna be pissed. I wonder if I'll get to talk gods with Isis again. Oh Well, on the bright side, this is a really cheap high…I probably would've drunk enough to feel like this in the morning anyway…
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