Monday, April 4, 2016

Noir thingy

A clear, moon-lit sky draped the bustling metropolis. It seemed God had planned to give His creations an open window to the gleaming stars along with a cool breeze to alleviate the swelter of a typical July evening. The grand spatial luster shone over the passerby going about their normal business. 

Ol’ Charlie, an infamous local hobo, continued to pleasure himself furiously within the confines of his favorite tarnished alleyway, and a couple of blocks away Lance Barrister was on the verge of reliving the intimate moment his face had once shared with the cold concrete ground outside of O’Connor’s Alehouse.

“Ya best not come back here until you’re willing to pay your overdue tab, or else this’ll be a stern talkin’ to compared to what I’ll do to ya next time ‘round,” the proud pub-owner proclaimed after he “escorted” the lowly gumshoe from the premises. “And Jaysus you had the balls to show up here plastered and penniless.”

“Come on, Gerry,” Barrister slurred as he struggled to get back up. “You know I’m good for it.”

“You’re a good-for-nothing loser gobshite,” O’Connor retorted. “What makes it sadder is you could actually be good for it had you put the effort. Clean up your act, will ya. In the meantime, stay away from my bar.”

The hulking Irishman walked back inside to serve his paying customers. He had a soft spot for Barrister and wished him all the best, but at that moment he felt a little tough love was in order.