Running on Fumes
by Daniel Beadle - Thursday, July 19, 2007
"This is how summer ended. Crying on the floor with a plastic tulip in one hand, and a love note in the other. I guess love isn't enough. All that happiness... it's tainted now."...But I can't forget it. I can't forget her. ...I still love her. ...Dammit."
SIX MONTHS LATER
The Nipple Barn. Not exactly a high-end establishment, but not bottom-rung either. Just the right kind of place for a middle-class American to sip his beer and get an eye full.
At the far end of the bar, somewhere in the shadows, Dan sits slumped in his chair. Stubble has crept onto his face, and his eyes look lethargically at the stripper ten feet away from him. His eyes shift to the limp dollar bill he holds in his left hand, not quite remembering how he came to be sitting in this particular titty bar at this particular time.
A young man wearing aviator sunglasses sits down next to Dan. "Not bad for a Sunday," he says, looking around the bar.
For the first time since his arrival, Dan looks around, realizing that the only other man in the bar is a 300 pound man covered in sweat and grease. "Is it Sunday?" pipes Dan. He looks at his wrist, remembering that he doesn't wear a watch.
"It's 7:30," says the man in the aviators. "So what's up, Dan? It's not like you to come to the Nipple Barn alone. That's Jake's thing."
"I've had a bad... year.""What happened?"
"Funniest thing: I had a love life."
"Really? How'd it go?"
"It ended." Dan finishes his beer and signals the waitress for another round.
"So you think it's over for you? No more relationships from here on out? C'mon, you can't honestly believe that."
"D-Man, have I ever lied to you?"
"Frequently."
"Then believe me when I say... It's over for me. I'm washed up. Strung out. Running on empty. Running on fumes, fer chrissake. I'm no better off than Jake Alberts. I might as well hang out in strip clubs, getting cheap thrills from strippers and selling used car stereos in the back alleys of Franklin."
"I thought Jake sold those in Worcester?"
"Whatever." The beers arrive, and Dan takes a few gulps. "The relationship ended six months ago, D-Man. Six months. And I still can get her out of my head. Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about her. Why can't I move on?"
"Maybe you could reconnect... patch things up."
"No. Things ran their course. Besides, she's seeing someone else these days. But me? I'm just measuring my isolation... in weeks... and months... and soon... in years."
"I'm sorry, Dan, I really am. You just need a good distraction."
"Like what?"
"I dunno... reconnect with the world... have some fun with life. Christ, you're only twenty..."
"Two."
"...Two. You got a lot of life to live. Finish that beer. Jake's coming back from San Diego tonight, and I gotta give him a ride. And once he's back..."
"...Hijinks and capers."
"...I was gonna say cheap thrills and other such bullshit, but I guess it's all the same. C'mon, man. Don't you remember all those things that you wanted to do before you died?"
"You mean getting drunk at a high class party and insulting people?"
"YES! Let's do that shit. Let's be offensive! Let's be rowdy!"
The 250 pound bouncer looks at D-Man. "Hey, pipe down."
D-Man shrinks down. "Okay."
Dan swigs his beer and stands up. "I think you're onto something here, D-Man. After all, a man with nothing to start with has nothing to lose." He tosses his limp dollar to the stage. "Hey, sweetheart. Just because it's not conventional to shave there doesn't mean you shouldn't."
She tosses him a dirty look. "Asshole."
"C'mon, D-Man. We've got some hell to raise."
