Deacon sits in his dark apartment, it's roughly 2:37am. Next to him is an ashtray full of discarded cigarette buts, a near empty fifth of gin, and his telephone. No fancy smart phone or cell phone, just an old model early 80's touch tone phone, black in color. Deacons waiting for a call, a very important call, and he'll be here all night if he has too. He's nervous, his hands are shaking, not quite sure what he's going to say when the call comes, in the back of his mind he's convinced himself he will ruin the whole deal; but he must get past that. His hands are clammy, his brow has dots of perspiration across it. He takes a swig from his bottle and a long haul on his cigarette. He regains composure for only a few moments. His mind races back to his younger days of youth and confidence. He was handsome once, and strong, spoke his mind out loud, and was often rewarded with praise, and the promise of good fortune, those days are gone now, and the smallest of victories is the world to Deacon. He gets to his feet to use the bathroom, he urinates long and hard, he's been holding this for a while, he keeps the bathroom door open and occasionally leans back to monitor the phone and make sure he doesn't miss it's impending ring. He flushes the toilet and returns to his seat, he lights up another cigarette, takes a swig and lets his mind wander. He smiles for a moment as his mind shifts to the exact reason he is here waiting by the phone, with such hopeless desperation. Two weeks ago Deacon was at a shopping market, he was purchasing his usual groceries for the week, microwave pizza, eggs, pickles, and cheese. As Deacon went through check-out he noticed the cashier was very pleasant to him, said things like please and thank you, have a nice day, she took great care in bagging his groceries. She was older in her late 40's, had the look of a woman that may have once been a high school cheerleader. Deacon was smitten by the woman and could no longer endure her obvious flirtations. When he received his receipt he mustered up all the courage he had and wrote his number across it and handed it back to her, to which she replied "Ok". Deacon's mind snaps back to the present and looks at the phone, he checks it for dial tone, puts the receiver back on the stand, lights up another cigarette, and waits...
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
The Wait...
Deacon sits in his dark apartment, it's roughly 2:37am. Next to him is an ashtray full of discarded cigarette buts, a near empty fifth of gin, and his telephone. No fancy smart phone or cell phone, just an old model early 80's touch tone phone, black in color. Deacons waiting for a call, a very important call, and he'll be here all night if he has too. He's nervous, his hands are shaking, not quite sure what he's going to say when the call comes, in the back of his mind he's convinced himself he will ruin the whole deal; but he must get past that. His hands are clammy, his brow has dots of perspiration across it. He takes a swig from his bottle and a long haul on his cigarette. He regains composure for only a few moments. His mind races back to his younger days of youth and confidence. He was handsome once, and strong, spoke his mind out loud, and was often rewarded with praise, and the promise of good fortune, those days are gone now, and the smallest of victories is the world to Deacon. He gets to his feet to use the bathroom, he urinates long and hard, he's been holding this for a while, he keeps the bathroom door open and occasionally leans back to monitor the phone and make sure he doesn't miss it's impending ring. He flushes the toilet and returns to his seat, he lights up another cigarette, takes a swig and lets his mind wander. He smiles for a moment as his mind shifts to the exact reason he is here waiting by the phone, with such hopeless desperation. Two weeks ago Deacon was at a shopping market, he was purchasing his usual groceries for the week, microwave pizza, eggs, pickles, and cheese. As Deacon went through check-out he noticed the cashier was very pleasant to him, said things like please and thank you, have a nice day, she took great care in bagging his groceries. She was older in her late 40's, had the look of a woman that may have once been a high school cheerleader. Deacon was smitten by the woman and could no longer endure her obvious flirtations. When he received his receipt he mustered up all the courage he had and wrote his number across it and handed it back to her, to which she replied "Ok". Deacon's mind snaps back to the present and looks at the phone, he checks it for dial tone, puts the receiver back on the stand, lights up another cigarette, and waits...
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