Next Stop...Pain.

Deacon plants himself in his favorite seat, takes a deep breath, exhales, and smiles. He's at peace now, resting comfortable amongst his beloved friends he's known; but never met, on a steel bench right behind old Bus Stop 88, outbound. It's Wednesday, 8:35pm, a sad day, and a loveless time. People at this time take the bus because they have to, not out of some Eco conscious choice, they have no choice, as for Deacon... he's with family. Sure, they have different nationalities, skin colors, sexes, sexual preferences; but yet they all wear the same face, a sad, morose mask of woe, and that is the tie that binds. There's "Larry" the 40 something year old accountant, who's loneliness and depression has rendered him with two DUI's, and an on again off again alcohol addiction, if the bus is more than two minutes late "Larry" will enter O'Shea's across the street and Deacon won't see "Larry" until next week. Another favorite of Deacon's is "Julian" the awkward homosexual. A gay man cursed with no fashion sense, clever retort, and the body of a 50 year old truck driver. He has no fag hags, no boyfriends, no sense of being, just drifts from day job to mom's house, occasionally taking pleasure in pornography. Then there's "Barbara" the mother of the group, one of the saddest; but only Deacon and she know it. Talks to anyone that will listen, says things like "hump day" and "T.G.I.F" laughs at the end of every sentence. However if you bother to listen to "Barbara" drone on about her son the surgeon who's so successful but lives far away, you'll notice her voice change, and she clutches onto something in her purse... it's your cell phone, isn't it "Barbara"? Your waiting for Mathew to call, aren't you Barbara? He's not going to, is he? It's evident they haven't spoken in years. The Mathew story never changes, Mathew moved away, Mathew's very busy... Poor Barbara, old and alone... waiting for her Mathew to call. Every bus stop has a thousand stories, and a million tears, these are Deacons people, the cast offs, the unwanted, the sad, this is Deacons home. 8:43pm, the bus pulls up to the stop, the family lines up for pick up, one by one they file in paying their toll, sighing their sigh, another day down, and nothing to show. The doors close, the bus pulls away from the curb, Deacon does a final headcount, drops his head to his chest, exhales, and mutters to himself... "see you next week "Larry".

Photographs

Photographs... unless it's a crime scene most pictures capture a moment of happiness, pleasure, a good time. Deacon looks through an old shoebox of pictures, in every picture he's smiling with friends, posing in hugged position with a girlfriend or ex-wife, toasting a beer... "printed lies" he murmers to himself. For you see, Deacon doesn't experience the feeling of a joyful moment captured on film, printed on a picture for him to enjoy for years and years, no he sees the lie's the film failed to expose. He see's the weak smile on his bosses face in the company BBQ's annual picnic... two months before massive layoffs, He looks at a picture of him and his best friend clincking beer mugs in Cancun, His firend's smile is full and bright but his eyes are sad. Deacon utters "I should have known" a week later his best friend would be found dangling from a rope in his attic. Finally, Deacon looks at his wedding photo, his young wife all beautiful and dressed in white, embracing him with seemingless endless love, and joyous possibilities. He then takes a long look at his own face, his own posture, the positioning of his hands... Deacon exhales and breathes out "I knew it even then... don't trust her". Deacon places the lid back on the box, tucks it back in the closet, on the floor behind his ice skates. Sit's down on his folding chair, picks up an oversized beer mug with dark contents in it, an inscription on the mug reads "Living La Vida Loca!" -Cancun 99-, he takes a drink, and rests the mug on his knee. Deacon reads the inscription to himself, exhales, "I should have known".

Happy New Year

Deacon Cassidy exits the liquor store, he has a 12 pack of Budweiser cans tucked under his arm, he's smiling, he thinks to himself, "2013 will bring good things". He turns right on the street and heads to the bus stop. Three steps out the door he bumps into a man, dark haired, small, and angry in the face. "What did you say to me?" the man asks, Deacon replies, "what?" from his jacket pocket the man produces a box cutter, slashes Deacon across the stomach. Deacon collapses to the cold, hard, concrete, gripping his abdominal. As warm, wet, red blood seeps out Deacon's body, the man stoops down, collects Deacons beer and whispers, "Happy New Year". As the man runs away, Deacon rolls to his back, looks up at the night sky and replies, "same to you".