The Writers Voice
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(The prompt was a photograph of a rock band.)
It happened on a Friday, and most Fridays you’ll find me down at The Pit. I
mean, y’gotta cut me some slack, okay? I work hard for a living at the
furniture warehouse, and besides, I had three stories rejected that week and The
a great place to forget about it and let it all hang out.
And speaking about letting it all hang out, there was this broad there... but
before I go into that, The Pit was featuring Ingmar Dervish that Friday
night. Yes, that Ingmar Dervish and his “River Styx Six.” They used to be called
“The Horde” until five of them got sent up for grand larceny theft, leaving the
remaining six to carry on. Carryin’ on’s what they do best.
I was sitting there, at the bar - on my third as I recall. I was nursing it,
knowing that one more and I’d be doing something I’d be ashamed of, when I
saw this blond broad next to me staring into the mirror behind the bar. That way
she could see herself as well as the band - like she was a part of it. She
had a Paris Hilton stoned look -- like she was made out of brushed chrome.
Feverish eyes. Depraved mouth. She held her elbows close to her sides, her hands
the air and her fingers snapping all out of rhythm with the band. She wore a
long soft - sort of silver dress that was cut down front all the way to God
knows where. What’s more, the sides were open, and you could see more of her
than if she was naked.
Without realizing it, I gulped down the rest of my third vodka and lime and
smiled at her as seductively as I could. “You come here often,” I asked? It
took a while for her to answer, as though she was coming back from a long time
in another place. The corners of her painted mouth raised slightly and her eyes
seemed to come into focus.
“Where is here,” she asked?
It was a question I’ve asked myself many times. “Here. I mean here at The
Although she still held her elbows close to her sides, she stopped her finger
snapping and held her palms upward, as though feeling for drops of rain.
“Wherever the Six goes, I go. The Pit’s as good as any other.”
“You like ‘em then? The Six Styx I mean.”
“Oh, they’re boss. I mean listen up... cacophony man!... when Dervish turns
it up I’d give it up for anybody.”
Well... that was more like it! It sure sounded like something I could use on
a Friday night after a week of rejections.
“Can I buy you a drink, I asked?
“When I said anybody, I didn’t mean you, creep.”
Well, that was the fourth rejection and I don’t need a brick wall to fall on
me... I know when I’m not wanted.
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