I'm pacing the floors going back an forth, wearing out the soles of my Doc Martens boots. The anticipation is killing me! "Where the fuck is she?" I ask. Waiting is the hardest part. I get myself all worked up over pleasure that turns into pain, that turns into longing. Here I am, peeking through the window every couple of minutes. Sometimes these fuckers play games, when I've already sold my Xbox 360. Communists have more class than my dealer. She's a trashy transplant from Beechview, currently residing in Andy Warhol's old neighborhood. Some would say garbage can, for which I concur. This trash can move a sought after product. Her domestic life makes mine appear to be picture perfect in comparison. There's always a belligerent argument, debate, over this or that. Roaches in the Cheerios, subhuman living. Her spouse however, holds all the aces, since the orange bottles are stamped with his name. She's just there to do all the dirty work. When she attempted to leave him, he suckered her back in through the pleasures of chemistry. After a week of bliss she was hooked, both mentally and physically. Her fate was now in his hands. Submission was required for the twist of a bottle cap. Go along to get along, you'll get a treat. Sometimes it worked out, other times it didn't. Two despots under one roof is a struggle for power. A daily endeavor. We'd make a call one day without any problems. Jumping for joy! Life is meaningful! Later on in the week if they were fighting, we were fucked. Perspiration on our foreheads, at war with reality, suffering indignantly. Everything banked on their dysfunctional relationship. These are the wealthiest people we've come to know. The orange bottle is synonymous with prosperity. You'd be right to think of reservations at The LeMont restaurant instead of filthy sweat pants, and cheap tv dinners. Money can't buy class. "Is she gonna show? I ask. "Its been an hour now, I'm anxious!" "Stop already, will ya?" replies my exasperated lover. "All you're doing is making it worse!" Like it could get any worse than this. I feel lethargy creeping into my calves, working its way up. I'm reaching the point where I ask the question: define equilibrium? "She just sent me a text message!" "And?" "She says they're fighting again!" Great. This may or may not seal our fate. Another night of twisting and turning on a mattress that feels like concrete. It's shit like this that gets people busted. It isn't the efficiency of a job done well by the police department. It's disgruntled consumers who need a fix, but figure it's time for the supplier to feel their pain. That's how it happens. I'm looking at the phone right now, contemplating my revenge. "She's out front!" yells my significant other. Fuck yeah! Another day will pass where we enjoy life to the fullest. Unhindered by the atrocities of a callous planet. Sleeping in until noon. Waking up to a smile.
After the seventh shot of Jack Daniels, her hand appeared on my upper thigh. I put my mouth close to her ear, gave it a little lick and asked, "My place or yours?" It was '80s night at the local watering hole. The music was loud enough to disrupt your thinking. As Tears For Fears sang Head Over Heels she replied, "Mine." I laid a five dollar tip down on the bar. I believe in gratuity. Then we staggered out like two drunks in a rush. She had her hands all over me in the parking lot. I of course reciprocated, by shoving mine underneath her yoga pants, clutching her ass, it was my pleasure. "I'm too fucked up to drive," she said, "and what's your name again?" I gave her an alias, something of Jewish descent and told her to toss me the keys. She threw like a girl, they landed in a puddle nowhere near my vicinity. We sucked face for a few minutes before our motorized journey began. Then I stuck the keys in the ignition, and off we went. I have no recollection of this woman's name, but I do recall her fine taste in music. Nevermind by Nirvana was spinning in the CD player. The effects of good old Jack were creeping up on me with each passing red light. Life was becoming a blur as the sexy woman riding shotgun contended with a bout of hiccups. I had to turn up the music to avoid aggravation. A cop was tailing us on Pioneer avenue. Suddenly I felt a burning, nauseous feeling inside my stomach, brought on by panic, so I made a right turn onto some cobblestone side street. The cop didn't follow us, but it was already too late for me. With what appeared to be a mile stretch of unoccupied road, I slammed my foot on the gas, as I threw up fifty dollars worth of booze outside the car window. "What the fuck are you doing, asshole? What the Fuck?" screamed my passenger. Words of endearment. The speedometer went from ten to sixty mph in the blink of the of an inebriated eye. "Hold the fuck on!" I said. "Let's see if we can max your car out!" We were both bouncing up and down from the velocity of drunk driving on cobblestone. "You're a fucking asshole!" screamed my passenger. Words like that make my dick hard. After a collision course with a manhole we ended up on the sidewalk. That's when I drove directly into a fire hydrant, luckily no one was injured. Smoke began to seep out from underneath the hood. She turned to me with a shocked look on her face and screamed, "You killed my fucking car!" "Yeah," I told her, "but you're still alive! Be grateful, bitch!" Then I fled the crime scene like a guilty criminal, leaving her the DUI charge, all for herself. I woke up safe, and alone, in the confines of my water bug infested apartment. My head was throbbing, a Tylenol was in order. I left stinking of good times turned bad in search of my Chevy Cobalt. After I circled a three block radius more times than I care to disclose, I finally found my car. The rest is hungover history.
Bio: Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh with a chemical imbalance and lack of patience. His writing has propagated the small press like chlamydia in Beechview. He's been faithfully volunteering at the Light Of Life Rescue Mission for the past three years now, the man believes in action. His chapbook is available here: