Coming up Short

I was walking downtown with my lady, it was midday, we had a few drinks in us by that time, and as we were crossing the street, birds chirping and engines revving, this asshole in a black Firebird, overly excited to make a right turn, almost takes off both of our fucking ankles. We flipped him the bird but by the time our fingers were fully extended he was a mile down the road. We went on with our day, grabbing a drink here and there, cautiously crossing street after street. It was around midnight when we ended up in this dive, peanut shells all over the floor, drunks coming in and out of it, and I saw the same asshole that was driving the Firebird sitting with two ladies, or what appeared to be ladies, sipping on whiskey. He was gonna get laid, and both the chicks with him knew that he was gonna get laid, so he sipped slowly on his drink, and me and my lady sat there watching him get drunker and drunker, and we too were getting drunker and drunker, and then I guess he decided that that was it, that was all the alcohol he would need to get through the night with these two chicks. We watched him stumble off of his stool cursing at the ground, and he left and we got drunker and wished that we would have had the courage to beat him half to death, but we were after all just a couple of simpletons lost amongst drunks, whores, and car dealerships. We were the last ones to leave the bar. The barkeep was sweeping up what seemed like hordes of peanut shells as we left. We headed out into the street looking for a cab but before we had a chance to make it there, we noticed that the black Firebird was still parked outside the bar despite its driver leaving two hours ago. I had many drinks in me so my courage was running on overdrive. I noticed a half-broken cinder block with a coffee can on top of it used for cigarette butts. I walked over to the block, kicked the coffee can off, and picked up the ten-pound piece of cement.

I walked towards the car with my lady laughing behind me, took one quick look over my shoulder, and tossed the fucker towards the car. I lost my balance and the stone came up short, crashing to the ground, sending an echo into the still night. I lay on the ground laughing with my lady and finally got up for another attempt but as I went to grab the block, I noticed that there was someone in the driver’s seat. The windows were tinted so we had a hard time seeing in, we walked towards the door and knocked on the window, we were not given a response so I quietly opened the driver’s door and to our amazement sitting in the driver’s seat was the two-chick wonder, stark naked, bleeding from the head. He stunk of whiskey and pussy and we started laughing because we finally knew the truth about all these Firebird driving motherfuckers, it all made sense and we walked home hand in hand with cab money to spare.

Matt D. B. Wilcox is a young, emerging writer living in Kitchener, Ontario. He is currently working on a compilation of short stories and poems.