“Well! Done!” Mark said, with an embarrassed smile.
“What?” she asked. The music in the bar was so damn loud, it entered your ears and wouldn’t leave or give way for any other sound.
He leaned his head right in to hers. “WELL! DONE!”
“Oh, yeah!”
she
laughed and
held up the
drink that
some guy had
bought her. It was
a marvelous feat.“Oh, yeah!” she laughed and held up the drink that some guy had bought her. It was a marvelous feat. She (’genie–that’s her name and I’m sure it’s short for something) had said to Mark, ‘I’m going to go have someone buy me a drink’ and she now had one.
“Who bought it?” he asked.
“Don’t even know. Didn’t have to speak to him, he was all the way on the other end,” she twisted her head a little in that general direction, “He just told the bartender ‘I’d like to get her a drink’ and–”
“Now you have one.”
“Mmm Hmm. Hey,” she laughed again, “you should go and say ‘Thanks for buying my girlfriend a drink’”.
Mark’s heart dropped a little as he forced a smile. ‘My Girlfriend” just sounded nice, even if not at all true. “You think he’d buy me one?”
“Maybe!”, she said, smiling.
Actually, it wasn’t really a joke. Both of them were broke, but only Genie was a pretty girl. Only Genie was pretty, period.
“You think if I walk up there all suave,” Mark said as Genie ignored him, “that maybe some gay dude will buy…”
She wasn’t paying any attention to him. Her eyes were focused beyond his shoulders at a rather loud table, even louder than you had to be in a place as loud as this.
“Dicks, right!” he said to her stare.
“No,” she leaned in to his ear, “There’s one guy there that…no, don’t look…he’s really cute.”
Mark watched her gaze go farther and farther towards this mystery man and with it his own chances. He looked over to see this loser, a truly second-rate character he thought, as he and his lame friends competed to speak over each other.
“Is he,” Mark said low, “wearing a beanie? Is this the 90s–”
She gave an excited nod, her eyes still focused on the man. “Here, take my drink,” she asked.
“You’re going over there now?” Mark replied with near-horror.
“No,” she laughed. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Mark took her free drink, wondering if there was anything in this or any other bathroom which could stop the unholy union from taking place.
“Thanks,” she said when he was holding it, “you’re so fucking awesome, you know that? (her eyes scanned the room) We should find you a girl here, dude.” And she disappeared into the bar’s tiny bathroom.
Being ‘fucking awesome’ was like being ‘a great friend’ or when they ‘just love to hang out with you’. Mark knew this. It was the end, there was no way back. He put the drink down on the nearest table and walked to the back of the bar, where the object of his object’s desire sat with his friends, still yelling.
“Hey man…” Mark said, quite clearly, to the man with the beanie. The table got quiet, almost nervous, and they all looked at him.
Mark bent down to the man and spoke, “Look, dude, there’s a girl in the bathroom, when–she likes you–when she gets out, go up and talk to her. She’ll be yours in like five minutes.”
The rest of the table cracked up, but the man stared in wonder.
“Is she hot–”
“Yeah, yeah…” Mark assured him.
“Hey, thanks man” the winner said, but Mark had already left the bar and walked off down the street.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
Here, in the beginning was the word. And the word said 'here' and here he was. He knew not why he was here (do any of us?), but he was here and there was nothing else here, only darkness--though lacking even the quantity called 'darkness'. And though there was not yet loneliness, terror, or cold; the being found himself terribly lonely and cold. Before the being could utter a magic word or a command, light raised up to the sky and illumination seeped onto the earth causing the being to smile for a moment, but then again he found himself crying because the light had only further lit up and revealed the full extent of nothingness.
The old men of the village had their eyes firmly focused on politics again. And the economy. And property values. And sports. But not their wives; their wives were safe at home now--safe and unlooked on. The candlelit dinners and music, the awkward dancing and even more awkward reading of poetry had stopped when the young men left. No need for it anymore. Yes, the old leaders of the village no longer had to watch their spouses like hawks--even though they sat at home all day, bored. So, though there was a war going on, the elders were all noticeably calmer than during peacetime and the council meeting had a relaxed air to it.
"Liberty Univer..." Mark stopped. It was the first time either of them had said that, the word "kill". Madison Square was completely dark now except for a few people at the enclosed dog-run. 
Kyle thought as he went for a better arrangement of the list. His structure still seemed off and taking it out of alphabetical order hadn't fixed the problem. He scribbled down on his notepad again: Homosexuals, blacks, Aisans, lesbians...
Both the young teenager and the old officer were terribly embarrassed as the Police cruiser careened through some of Wilson's earliest paved roads. 
There was nothing that crazy about the nickname; Americans are a practical, simple, right-to-the-point kind of people: And quite simply, practically, that's what it was good at. Well, of course, planes are, first and foremost, good at flying, but this one was particularly well suited for killing Arabs. It was untraceable on radar, could effectively dodge either a bullet or a missile--while it's own projectiles were effectively unstoppable, and so precise that, according to one Army pilot, they could take out a towelhead without disrupting a hair on his goat's ass (his words, not mine). This was the fear of God, or Allah, or whatever.
Summer in the city. The grid is lit up like a dirty grill, hot and red, caking on the filth and the remnants of last night's meat. It's the weekend, but who cares, we have places to go, the atoms say, stretching apart, thrown together, brushing up against eachother's agendas. A week ago, a crane fell and killed two and we stood on the cool breezy street, talking and complaining to absolute strangers, calling for Mike's resignation, for action, for bureaucratic blood. Now the papers report that a crane operator had been bribed and, so long as the AC works, let's bribe him some more and move, move, keep moving, the city is swell, though it feels like hell.