The Smoker...

Deacon is outside, its the afternoon, 2 pm. It's an odd time for Deacon, most days at this time he's lying in bed, gin near by, wrestling with the idea of getting up, or remaining comatose, most days the later gets the hand held high; but here he is, out in the sun,wondering why he made this decision, wandering the streets, he remembers, "I need a win" he utters this to himself. Deacon is dressed as best he can possibly assemble, hat, button down shirt, clean jeans, shoes. He spies a girl, beautiful, small body, tight clothes, no make up. Deacon is overwhelmed with her beauty; but dare he approach? Deacon, passes back and forth past the girl, she's Asian, about his age, 5'3 and has all the look of a girl that has been to the gym. Tight tank top, short athletic shorts, headphones draped around her neck. Deacon doesn't stand a chance, it's been years since a girl like this has even acknowledged his existence. Deacon, takes a moment, examines his own body, broken ribs from a Puerto Rican in the Bronx, stab wound from some thick mick in South Boston, Sliced eyebrow from some Black guy in California. He's disgusted with himself, and feels he has not a prayer with this stunning beauty. He watches the girl from a distance, he's allured by her beauty; but knows he has not a chance, he turns to walk away. The beautiful Asian girl turns, sparks up a cigarette, and Deacon makes his move...

Cards...

Deacon steps into the neighborhood coffee shop, his first time to the establishment; but not his first time to the location. It used to be a bar he knew so well, the "Red Horse Tavern"; but those days are long gone, The bar has since closed, and the old guard has moved out and the yuppies have come in and set up shop. He reflects for a moment on the days, and nights he used to spend there ... The friends he made, and lost. There was Jerry the Vietnam Veteran, whiskey drinker, he used to spend hours talking of the war and the things he saw, often preaching to a young Deacon about the horrors of war, as well as the women he conquered, it was an even balanced conversation. Jerry was Deacons friend and ally, they shot whiskey together, laughed, learned, Jerry has since passed on...throat cancer... Marcus, the African American postal worker, he would stop in for a pint while on his route. Marcus was big and loud, hated his wife; but had no courage to leave her, 3 kids he needed to put through college, Marcus was good for a pint and a bet, never won the gamble, then he'd be on his way, Deacon liked Marcus, very much, last he heard he lost his job and was working in a warehouse. There was Luis, a hearty Puerto Rican, very robust, he always brought cheer and food for the boys, Chorizo, Empanadas, and Beans, he never paid for a drink and nobody ever asked him too. Played Spanish music on the juke box and would even dance a bit, shook everyone's hand and called them brother, always came with plenty of warmth, food, and love,  Deacon liked him a lot. He, sadly lost his wife and kids in a fire, a genuine tragedy, last Deacon heard of him he was rumored to be living somewhere near Cincinnati, in a shelter... The coffee shop is bustling with hipsters, laptops, and the privileged,  Deacon takes a breath and staggers back. The clerk is polite as Deacon orders his apple juice for $4.00. Deacon pays and takes a seat in the very corner he had some thoughtful conversations, with Jerry, Marcus, and Luis, life lessons. Deacon takes a sip from his apple juice and leans back, he's confused a bit. As he sits in his unbalanced wooden chair and takes a moment to take in his new surroundings, he utters to himself... "Cards" he's jealous for a moment; but only a moment. He looks at the young, the bright, the privileged. Deacon recollects, Marcus taught me cards, Marcus used to say, not everyone gets a fair hand, some have a great hand, some have an decent hand, some have nothing... The difference is how good of a player you are, a bad hand can beat a good hand if your capable... Deacon takes a moment, breathes hard, and takes in the arrogance and pretentiousness that surrounds him, Sighs deeply, looks into his own hand and utters "I can win"...



Dedicated to -TK-