DISCLAIMER: I am prone to starting and stopping, taking undue rest breaks after very little amounts of work, so if chapter 2 never surfaces, you know why.
“Ok, so after this round, we go right,” Josh pleaded.
“Come on you wet fish! Just drink! Derek commanded. Simultaneously, they lifted the square-bottomed shot glasses and threw its contents down their respective hatches.
“Woooo, fuck yeah! THAT, is what I’m talking about, “Derek crooned as his inhibitions began to dissolve. “Man, booze after work on a Friday should be engraved into the tablets of law in this country.”
“No it bloody shouldn’t,” protested Josh. “Booze is a plague. It does nothing more than lift a man high then subsequently drag a man down into the depths of depression.”
“Good Lord Josh, take a sip of merriment would you!” offered Derek as a response. His head pulsating rhythms that only a shot of dark rum, chased with a shot of white rum could induce. “Without alcohol, mankind would do nothing but work and watch ITV dramas. Most of us would not even have been conceived if it weren’t for a swig of cider and an ill-made condom.”
Their woozy banter hung low in their corner of Smiths bar. Every week, they chose to sit in the most remote corner of the restaurant, away from the bankers and brokers and their European beers and regulation bespoke office wear. They chose to sit in the valley of seclusion at the far end of the bar, cocooned in conversation and sheltered by familiarity. Smiths’ was like most bars in the city, lacking in taste and decor but overcompensating with top shelf liquor and well endowed waitresses. The walls were painted shades of green, with crimson streaks lavishly thrown in at random points to qualify for art-deco interior design. The majority of the high-chairs and wooden benches had been removed and the only bench that remained was a small, uninviting number, which Josh and Derek royally claimed with every visit. High tables were scattered intermittently around the bar, and stood stained with the memories of cocktails past. Josh sat alone while Derek made a toilet run, his bladders’ way of telling him he had drunk beyond his limit. Josh felt the slow creep of intoxication, the loosening of the tongue, the false euphoria, yep, he was well on his way, to his dismay.
Just then, Derek returned armed with a tray holding two more shots of clear liquid and 2 tall drinks that contained a tonnage of crushed ice and mint leaves.
“Derek, what the hell...”
“Live a little my man, It’s Friday” he swooned, his face now plastered with an ear to ear grin.
“Exactly, Friday. MY day,” grumbled Josh. “This evening is the one night that is furthest away from Monday morning and sometimes, I’d like to bask in that notion, to sit quietly and contemplate its...
“..contemplating. That is your Achilles Heel my friend,” interrupted Derek, his voice laced with mockery and indignation. “Do not THINK...”he said, his eyes flirting with the shot glass in front of him. “... do NOT search... just learn...to live.” And with that nugget of wisdom, Derek downed the shot of clear liquid and followed it with a mighty howl and a shiver. “Come on Josh, catch up mate.”
Reluctantly, Josh reached for the drink and gulped the poison, which caused less internal burn than the last.
“So, Josh,” began Derek, “there are a vast amount of ladies in here, a dame for every kind of man. Any taken your fancy yet?”
Josh surveyed the room, trying to spot a woman that didn’t look like a poor-mans’ imitation of some character from a late night American TV drama.
“Ok, well not that group over there for starters.” Josh stated while gesturing to a cluster of hip women no more than 10 feet away from them.
“Why not?”
“Have you seen what they are drinking?” Derek shook his head. “Pints!” Confusion leapt across Derek’s face. “A pint of lager is the most masculine drink on the planet, and to see it being consumed by woman, I have to say, is highly off-putting.” Derek’s confusion remained in tact. “Next, SHE’LL be watching the football and asking me where HER dinner is, or demanding my sperm in HER never-ending quest to procreate.
“You ARE joking” asked Derek, slyly mocking his counterparts’ intonation while tilting his head in disbelief.
“’’Fraid not,” he replied matter-of-factly. “It’s one of my little theories about the fairer sex.”
Josh had many theories regarding the fairer sex and they ranged from the ridiculous, (a woman who is a vegetarian is a closeted lesbian), to the even more ridiculous, (a woman who refuses to eat more than a salad for dinner, is probably the woman whose culinary skills do not surpass salad making).
“Ok, how about one of the ladies in that group by the bar”. Josh’s attention now directed at the lively group of Antipodeans at the bar. They were all strikingly gorgeous, blonde, athletic, covered in early onset signs of skin cancer, smiley 30 somethings, who sipped Bellinis while cradling purses and clutch-bags that Josh valued at more than a month of his wages.“Surely one of them grabs your attention.”Josh shifted in his seat to take a better look.
“Thing is...”
“This I have to hear...”laughed Derek.
“While they are obviously beautiful women, I can’t help but wonder what they will be like in 20 years time, when they can no longer squeeze into this months “must have” outfits and have outgrown their friends and their Blackberrys. What kind of a companion will they make in the long run?
“Who..on earth..is talking about the long run? All I’m talking about is a vessel...” Derek began to stare at the group intensely, his eyes glazed over as he rubbed the palms of his hands against each other, finding sensuality and wisdom in the friction, his voice now taking on a soft, guru-like quality “...a woman, to take home, and ravage in the comfort of your own home...”
Just then, the lights above flickered, interrupting his sermon and throwing him back into reality.
“Shit”, cursed Derek, slightly annoyed that his Descartes moment had been stolen. “Last orders. Ok, let’s finish these off and try to squeeze in another” he said.
“Another,” said Josh, his words accompanied with a shaking of the head and an insightful grin. “Everything with you is always ANOTHER” he continued, the alcohol beginning to slur his speech and causing him to sway slightly. “Seeeeee...” the elongated vowel a result of the rum, mint and ice concoction he was nursing, “...that is the great trouble with us today, we always want another...and another...
And with that, Derek thought it perfect timing to make another trip to the bar to order another round. He weaved through the tapestry of adults like a veteran, anticipating which way each person would move, gliding through the hoards of revellers, such precision made him almost God-like in motion. Meanwhile, Josh sat alone, holistically awash in drunkenness and vulnerability. In these isolated minutes, the effect of the nights’ alcohol and a 45-hour working week seemed to move at warp speed. He could feel his body fading. His mind swirled and his thoughts ebbed away at his brain. He loathed this feeling and the confusion it came with. His head grew heavy and his thoughts grew dark. He tried to hone his vision on the table in front of him but discipline had long gone and the delayed messages to his limbs were almost incomprehensible. Josh’ eyelids waned and darkness began to engulf his world. His hearing remained slightly in tact but was tarnished with a vibrant, high-pitched sensation, a frequency usually reserved for canines and sonar. As his head tilted back, he could hear the indistinct chatter of the room and he could just about hear Derek muttering, “Back to mine for a nightcap?”
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