Post by Sparrow on Aug 30, 2012 20:44:39 GMT -5
Un-named/possible start to a novel
The bar was empty, except for a young couple who sat at the opposite end, sipping beer out of mugs and watching the TV in the corner. There was a group of 20-something aged men at one of the tables. Their choice of refreshment was also beer, but they took theirs straight from the bottle, as they sat, playing poker, seemingly oblivious to the TV which had the attention of almost everyone else in the world. He was thankful to have found this dank little establishment, its door opening out onto an alleyway that lead to a side street a small city in western New Jersey. Not an easy place to just stumble onto, hence the dearth of customers, where almost everywhere else was brimming with people, even at this late hour.
He ran a trembling hand through disheveled thick black hair, wishing the bartender would bring his drink and trying not to pay attention to the television. He had to THINK. The bartender plunked his drink on the bar in front of him, barely taking his eyes off the TV screen, and turned his back to him, leaning an arm on the bar. Good. It was unlikely that the bartender, or anyone else in the darkened room, would take note of him, or remember his face.
The warmth of the gin gliding down his throat was a blessing, and he took a deep breath as it began to loosen his tight nerves. He had driven for hours, just trying to gather his thoughts. He was amazed himself at how quickly he'd been able to rent a vehicle, on the company card, of course, and simply driven away from the scene of chaos. Next thing he knew, he was entering Phillipsburg, New Jersey, with little awareness of the route he had taken to get there.
Now the realization dawned that she would be looking for him. Desperately trying to reach him, making frantic calls to try and locate him. Perhaps his son, away at school in Pennsylvania, had headed up to be with her. His son. He blinked the image of him from his mind and ordered another drink. He had no idea where he could stay the night, or even if he wanted to sleep. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back - and the briefcase. Everything he had was back at home. And everything he had ever wanted could be his in the days and years that suddenly stretched before him like a newly paved runway.
What to do? His choices were clear. But his alcohol-primed brain could not grapple with them now, not tonight. He allowed himself a few minutes of watching the blinking television, then slapped a twenty dollar bill on the bar, got up, and left.
The bar was empty, except for a young couple who sat at the opposite end, sipping beer out of mugs and watching the TV in the corner. There was a group of 20-something aged men at one of the tables. Their choice of refreshment was also beer, but they took theirs straight from the bottle, as they sat, playing poker, seemingly oblivious to the TV which had the attention of almost everyone else in the world. He was thankful to have found this dank little establishment, its door opening out onto an alleyway that lead to a side street a small city in western New Jersey. Not an easy place to just stumble onto, hence the dearth of customers, where almost everywhere else was brimming with people, even at this late hour.
He ran a trembling hand through disheveled thick black hair, wishing the bartender would bring his drink and trying not to pay attention to the television. He had to THINK. The bartender plunked his drink on the bar in front of him, barely taking his eyes off the TV screen, and turned his back to him, leaning an arm on the bar. Good. It was unlikely that the bartender, or anyone else in the darkened room, would take note of him, or remember his face.
The warmth of the gin gliding down his throat was a blessing, and he took a deep breath as it began to loosen his tight nerves. He had driven for hours, just trying to gather his thoughts. He was amazed himself at how quickly he'd been able to rent a vehicle, on the company card, of course, and simply driven away from the scene of chaos. Next thing he knew, he was entering Phillipsburg, New Jersey, with little awareness of the route he had taken to get there.
Now the realization dawned that she would be looking for him. Desperately trying to reach him, making frantic calls to try and locate him. Perhaps his son, away at school in Pennsylvania, had headed up to be with her. His son. He blinked the image of him from his mind and ordered another drink. He had no idea where he could stay the night, or even if he wanted to sleep. He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back - and the briefcase. Everything he had was back at home. And everything he had ever wanted could be his in the days and years that suddenly stretched before him like a newly paved runway.
What to do? His choices were clear. But his alcohol-primed brain could not grapple with them now, not tonight. He allowed himself a few minutes of watching the blinking television, then slapped a twenty dollar bill on the bar, got up, and left.
