Friday, November 21, 2008


"What's the absolute worst you been down on your luck?"

Scoots lit a match and dropped it in his shot glass. Terry leaned into the carpeted wall and thought hard. Scoots pulled a stogie from the inner pocket of his coat and held it sharply between his teeth. In one movement, he threw the shot back, lit the cigar off the flaming shot, and downed the worm. Terry moved from the wall.

"At a kegger, I ate nineteen Cadbury Eggs and drank this kinda' corn tastin' bever --" Terry cut himself off when Scoots winced and opened his mouth.

"No one ever knock a tooth out of your head? Never woke up in an alley covered in blood? Got caught naked at a party and couldn't get your clothes back?" Scoots sighed in disgust. He sleeved the nicotine and sweat from his brow, coughed the match into his hand and chucked it at the turd.

It was a bad club full of bad people. Japanese businessmen. Escaped convicts still in their orange uniforms. A girl in a sunflower print one-piece bathing suit. Scoots wanted another tequila but thought he might say something about the girl's breasts.


In the basement, Arto stopped swinging his pickax. The Doctor had arrived with a guest. Arto reminded himself, "Don't worry -- he's colorblind. He couldn't tell you if you were bleeding."

"Welcome to Assland, biiiitch," said The Doctor. He removed a syringe of beer-colored fluid from his smock and sprayed it into Arto's face. The Doctor owned the club, having inherited the deed and liquor license from a distant pill-popping cousin who died after leaving half a tuna sandwich on a Foreman Grill while high.

"What... was that?" Arto wiped some of the fluid off his face and smelled his hand.

"It's the piss of an architect -- it'll make you brilliant."

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