For Fox…

I know this is late… Time differences… and such… can’t blame it all on the world spinning though… I’m known for being late… so some of it… I guess is on me… 

Happy Birthday Fox….

At Their Mercy
“All men are at the mercy of their women. They like to pretend they are big and strong, complete in some way. Men like to portray that they need no one, but in reality, they need someone. Writers are no different. Writer’s need someone more than any other type of person. Behind every great story is an even great heartache.” I take a sip from my glass. “So, who broke your heart then?” She smiles. “Whom,” I say before looking away, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen all of their faces yet. Let alone know their names.” She laughs, her breasts jiggle as she pretends to be amused by my charm. “You are good,” she smiles. This is how it begins.

Something smashes against the wall. Doesn’t matter what. All that matters is that it lies in pieces at my feet. A losing battle with no real winner. Most are once it gets to this point. This point of not caring about personal things. Everything is a weapon if you let it be. Random objects are no different. Her words much of the same. “You are a piece of shit. You know that don’t you? I hope you know that. It was that girl down the hall wasn’t it? With her tight ass and sexy ways.” Always with the accusations never any facts. Digging and scratching for anything until the lies become truth. For once I’d like to be presented with some truth. Though truthfully I wonder if the girl down the hall is seeing anyone. “You know I used to be sexy. Until I met you. Then you fattened me up to the point you didn’t want me anymore.” There could be some truth in there, but I’m not sure what parts at the moment. I stay silent. Past experiences tell me to stay silent. When she is calm I can leave. I dodge yet another object. It crashes into the wall. This time leaving a hole where it now sits. “You are an asshole. You used me all up and now you want to leave me? I won’t let you. You’re not leaving me because I’m leaving your cheating ass.” More things fly. That’s all they are, are things. Words and things. For some that is all they have. They work for things, to get more things, to break those said things.

“You have nothing to say for yourself? Of course you don’t. All your real emotions go into those stupid stories of yours. Your worthless piece of shit stories. You are a horrible writer. You know that?” I must be getting pretty good to derive this much emotion. Maybe I am ready for the world? “You pretend to be all profound, but that’s just it. You are a pretender. You pretend like you give a shit and you pretend like you can fuck. But you know what asshole? You can’t, so I hope little miss whatever the fuck likes going to bed wondering when a real man is showing up. Because the Lord knows I’m still waiting.” Still I say nothing. Though I want her now more than ever. I don’t take the bait. I would have been gone by now, but you never turn your back on a wounded animal. Never, I’ve got the scars to prove it. “Jesus. Nothing, still nothing?” A long silence filled only with her heavy breathing. “Just get out. Get out of here already.” I pack quickly. No use taking things I don’t need. That was the point of all of this. Getting rid of the things I don’t need.

I make my way out the door and down the street. I make my way to yet another bar. Passing the familiar places I call home. Each one filled with too many women who have heard too many of my lines. They are getting stale. The lines sound cheap in my head and even cheaper out of my mouth. I enter this new place. By new I mean one I haven’t been to recently. She sits at the end of the bar. Not my typical type but in desperate times what is a man to do? She pretends to be uninterested and I have found my way in. It is easy to find yet another one I can take a hold of. Because all men are at the mercy of their women, but really all women are at the mercy of their men.


Hopefully you enjoyed this tale… heavily inspired by Bukowski… and bad times… Have a wonderful birthday… 


4 thoughts on “For Fox…”

  1. “Writer’s need someone more than any other type of person. Behind every great story is an even great heartache.”
    It’s true….. Almost everything I write relies on what someone makes me experience…. A writer does need someone….. Sometimes as a source… Sometimes as the sink….

    Liked by 1 person

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