September 3, 2014
It's been a long time since I've sat at a bar, alone.
I talk to the bartender for a minute, order my beer and shot and then send him away. Drinking is like that old friend that never goes away; he's always there when you need him and you can pick up right where you left off. Pumpkin injected beers and ciders are ripe for the picking. It's my favorite flavor and amongst other things, it's what I wait for all year long. I take that fist sip and it feels like Halloween and Thanksgiving wrapped it a glass bow, slowly going down my throat.
The bar was open and hippyish; a decoupaged bar top, trees with lights around them (some real and some fake), Darwinian paintings all around, and the customers; 30 something artists, sports freaks, and me.
I don't know if I stuck out, or I didn't fit in, or if I gave off that I'm better than all of you vibe and that's why some of them were looking at me like a pariah. Maybe it was because I was sitting at a bar typing on an iPhone, writing an email to myself, inadvertently disconnecting me from the rest of the bar. All I knew was I wasn't going anywhere. It had been a long time since I had a drink and it was equally as long since I'd carved.
I don't like to rehash the past but whenever I wait a long enough time between carvings, I tend to remember those groups of people I've made my impression on. I have two rules when choosing my groups; One, they have to make no sense to the public, and all the sence to me. Two, they have to deserve the carving, they have to need the carving, and they have to be a part of the carving. I guess that seems to be more than two, but it makes sence in my head.p
A few years ago, around the same time, beginning of September, I started my search for my latest group. I always like to watch for a month and then persue. I'd follow one for a while, then another, and another, depending on how many people were in the group. If I wanted to challenge myself I went bigger, if I wanted to take it easy I'd only do two or three; that year I felt particularly naughty.
No need to go into details, like I've said the past is the past.
I'm still at the bar, I order another shot and another beer. The crowd has changed, again. Now, it is filled with young nurses and med students with limited funds and endless possibilities. A few catch my eye instantly, men and women, gender never mattered to me. Sexual pleasure was not my drive, there was nothing sexual about what I've done and what I do, though some have reported that it is.
I glance around the bar and there he is. I'd seen him there a few times before, usually with some nurses and doctors, but I wasn't interested in the group he was with at the bar; I wanted to know who he lived with, I wanted to know his life outside of this sickening and popular bar. I wanted to know where he lived and who lived with or near him.
He pays his tabe, says goodbye to his friends and leaves. I quickly pay my tab and tip the bartender. I don't leave a bad tip, nor do I leave a great one. I find it better to tip in the middle so that bartenders never remember me.
He's about a block ahead of me. I stay far enough behind for obvious reasons. Even if he did turn around he'd simply see me texting away on my phone. I keep my eyes focused on where he is headed. As he turns the block I notice him unlocking his car and getting in. It's pretty beat up, so it will be easy to follow next time.
I watch him drive away and all I can think is, "you've got no idea what's in store for you."
Till next time,
Sent from my iPhone